LITTLE  MISS 
MELODY 

JWARIAN  KEITH 


*  3  4  D 


LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 
MARIAN   KEITH 


LITTLE 
MISS     MELODY 


BY 

MARIAN    KEITH 

AUTHOR  OF  "IN  ORCHARD  GLEN,"  "THE  SILVER  MAPLE," 
"TREASURE  VALLEY,"  ETC. 


NEW   XS^  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
CHAPTER 

I    "AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM" 9 

II      GOES    A-SlNGING J9 

III  MEETS  A  NEW  FRIEND    .. .     .,    K 30 

IV  THE  WATER  BABY :  37 

V    PROMOTED  TO  THE  TOP  SHELF 52 

VI    THE  SILENT  SINGER 61 

VII    THE  WASP  CHORUS /r 

VIII    A  MAKER  OF  Music ^4 

IX    THE  ANNIVERSARY IO2 

X    A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY .     .     .  109 

XI     RUSHED  THE  DISCORD  IN I27 

XII    BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE     .     .     .     .  137 

XIII  OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD 152 

XIV  JANET  SOLVES  A  RIDDLE T7i 

XV    A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED 181 

XVI     MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  Music  LESSON     .     .     .     .  194 

XVII    ON  A   SINGING  TOUR 2°7 

XVIII      JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT 224 

XIX    A  JARRING  NOTE 235 

XX    A  DIFFICULT  PIECE  OF  Music 245 

XXI    MIDSUMMER  Music 2SS 

v 


2136574 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII  LENNIE  STARTS   A   CHORUS 263 

XXIII  THE  LOST  SONG 270 

XXIV  A  SONGLESS  NIGHT 281 

XXV  NEW  Music 290 

XXVI  A  CLEARER  CAROL 296 


LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 


LITTLE 
MISS  MELODY 

CHAPTER  I 

"AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM" 

village  that  stood  on  Cherry  Hill  was  half  a  mile 
-1.  in  length  and  some  twenty  rods  wide.  It  consisted  of 
a  single  street,  stretching  in  a  straight,  white,  tree-shaded 
line,  from  the  Presbyterian  Church  on  the  West  to  the  old 
Bradley  Hotel,  which  marked  the  extreme  East  End.  It 
was  quite  the  prettiest  village  in  Ontario;  a  little  garden 
community  set  in  the  centre  of  a  wide  garden  valley.  An 
ambitious  and  progressive  spirit  in  the  inhabitants  had  added 
much  to  nature's  gifts.  If  you  lived  in  Cherry  Hill,  and  your 
neighbour  bought  a  new  pump  or  an  up-to-date  lightning-rod 
for  his  barn,  or  a  fashionable  style  of  wire  fencing  for  his 
lot,  then  it  became  necessary  that  you  get  a  larger  and 
redder  pump,  several  newer  lightning-rods,  and  a  more 
ornamental  fencing  for  your  frontage.  So  when  old  Well- 
ington Caldwell,  who  used  to  be  gardener  to  a  Duke  or 
something  of  that  sort  in  the  Old  Country,  planted  moun- 
tain ash  trees  along  the  front  of  his  lot,  and  laid  out  a 
smooth  lawn,  and  trained  climbing  roses  all  over  his 
veranda,  and  took  to  raising  an  acre  or  so  of  flowers — im- 
mediately all  Cherry  Hill  burst  out  into  a  glory  of  mountain 
ash  trees,  lawns,  climbing  roses  and  flower  gardens. 

Every  family  in  the  village,  except  the  Kellys,  who  had  too 
many  children,  and  the  Murphys,  who  had  too  many  pigs, 
lived  in  a  riot  of  flowers  from  the  first  crocus  of  April  to  the 

9 


10  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

last  aster  of  October.  And  in  fact  the  only  kind  of  blos- 
soms you  were  not  likely  to  see  during  summer's  gay  rota- 
tion, was  cherry  blossoms,  for  there  were  no  cherry  trees 
on  Cherry  Hill. 

On  this  warm  September  morning  the  white  dusty  line 
of  the  village  street,  between  its  drooping  fringes  of  moun- 
tain ash,  lay  asleep  in  the  sunshine.  The  far-off  shouts  of 
the  Kelly  children,  hieing  forth  on  their  Saturday  expedition, 
the  rhythmic  bell  of  Archie  McDuff's  anvil,  and  a  slight 
difference  of  opinion  between  Mrs.  Murphy's  pig  and  the 
storekeeper's  dog  as  to  the  privilege  of  the  King's  Highway 
were  the  only  sounds  that  disturbed  the  Sabbath-like  peace. 

But  there  was  one  house  in  the  village  where  there  were 
life  and  stir  and  prodigious  amount  of  work  going  on. 
Away  at  the  west  end  of  the  street,  where  the  village  church 
lifted  its  slim  grey  tower  above  the  tree  tops,  stood  the 
Manse.  It  was  an  old,  grey,  brick  house  with  green  shutters 
and  a  sagging  veranda;  and  like  all  the  other  houses  it 
was  surrounded  by  a  wide,  green  lawn  and  a  gay,  flower 
garden. 

On  the  veranda,  under  the  heavy  Virginia  creepers,  sat 
the  busiest  person  in  the  village ; — a  very  small  girl,  strain- 
ing every  nerve  to  accomplish  the  hemming  of  a  very  large 
towel. 

To  say  that  Janet  Meldrum  sat  is  scarcely  correct;  ex- 
cept as  a  robin  may  be  said  to  sit  on  a  twig,  on  a  warm 
April  morning  when  the  rain  has  just  ceased. 

Her  shining  eyes,  her  restless  little  brown  hands,  her 
small  thin  body,  even  the  long,  heavy  braid  of  brown  hair, 
that  hung  almost  to  the  hem  of  her  pink  gingham  dress,  were 
all  alive  and  eager  and  in  constant  motion. 

Beside  her  low  chair  lay  a  little  fox-terrier,  dividing  his 
time  between  taking  very  short  naps  and  watching  his  mis- 
tress to  see  what  fun  was  coming  next. 

Janet  had  been  sent  to  the  veranda,  and  commanded  to 
finish  this  towel,  which  had  stretched  its  serpent  trail  over 
many  a  Paradise  of  a  Saturday  morning;  and  this  was  the 
manner  of  her  sewing: — 


"AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM"  11 

She  took  one  laborious  stitch,  emitting  a  tremendous  sigh, 
jerked  her  thread  through  and  tangled  it.  Then  she  sud- 
denly became  aware  that  she  had  no  thimble,  and  made  a 
leap  for  her  mother's  work  basket,  that  lay  on  the  table  near. 
The  leap  was  longer  than  necessary  and  landed  her  on  top 
of  the  basket.  Its  contents  of  spools,  needles,  pins,  bodkins 
and  a  hundred  other  small  articles  went  spinning  over  the 
sloping  veranda  floor,  and  all  hurried  outward  towards  the 
tangle  of  shrubs  beneath.  Janet  dropped  her  towel  and 
made  a  dismayed  leap  after  the  runaways.  The  little  fox- 
terrier  woke  up,  and  gaily  joined  the  chase,  under  the  mis- 
taken notion  that  it  was  a  new  kind  of  game  his  little 
comrade  had  invented  for  his  amusement.  In  the  midst  of 
a  great  deal  of  noise  and  running  and  laughter  there  came  a 
pained  and  reproving  voice  from  the  open  window. 

"Janet,  child;  what  can  you  be  doing?" 

Janet  snatched  a  spool  from  the  little  dog's  jaws.  "Pep- 
per! You  bad  boy!  It's  the  things  from  your  basket, 
Mother  dear,  they  won't  stay  still.  But  I've  got  them  all 
back  again ;  every  one  of  them  jumped  out !"  She  threw  the 
last  truant  thimble  back  into  its  home;  and  sank  into  her 
chair  again.  The  little  dog  came  and  stood  before  her,  his 
tongue,  his  tail,  and  his  bright  eager  eyes  all  coaxing  for 
more  fun. 

Janet  took  her  second  stitch,  with  a  reproving  air.  "Now, 
Pepper,  don't  you  see  I've  got  this  towel  to  hem?"  she  asked 
in  a  prim  voice  which  was  an  exact,  if  unconscious,  imita- 
tion of  the  one  inside  the  window. 

This  time  the  thimble  was  in  place  but  being  one  of  her 
mother's  it  was  much  too  big  and  caused  the  next  diversion. 
It  slipped  off,  and  Janet  jabbed  the  needle  into  her  finger. 
She  dropped  the  towel  and  leaped  to  her  feet. 

"Oh,  Mother !"  she  called,  trying  hard  not  to  look  pleased. 
"My  finger's  going  to  bleed  in  a  minute,  something  awful. 
May  I  get  a  rag  to  put  on  it?" 

"That's  the  result  of  your  jumping  about  so,  Janet,"  re- 
plied the  pained  voice.  "Why  can't  you  sit  quietly  when 
you  sew?  Run  upstairs  and  you  will  find  a  piece  of  old 


12  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

linen  in  the  right  hand  corner  of  the  second  drawer,  and 
leave  Pepper " 

But  Janet  was  half  way  up  the  stairs  long  before  the  di- 
rections had  been  finished,  the  little  dog  leaping  ahead.  She 
had  not  heard  where  her  mother  told  her  to  look  for  the 
old  linen;  so  there  was  a  great  deal  of  rumaging  and  run- 
ning from  one  room  to  another.  At  last  a  bandage  was 
found  and  adjusted.  When  this  elaborate  piece  of  work 
was  done,  and  Janet  and  her  frisky  companion  had  danced 
back  to  the  veranda,  the  pricked  finger  was  as  large  as  the 
whole  hand  and  considerably  in  the  way.  This  necessitated 
a  new  bandage  of  more  moderate  proportions.  But  still  no 
thimble  would  go  on  a  finger  that  was  almost  as  big  as  a 
fist.  So  it  became  necessary  to  sew  without  a  thimble ;  and 
Janet  was  ready  for  the  third  stitch  on  her  towel. 

Just  then  the  wire  door  leading  into  the  hall  swung  open, 
and  Janet's  mother  came  out.  She  moved  slowly,  absorbed 
in  reading  a  paper  which  she  had  spent  the  morning  writing. 
Mrs.  Meldrum  was  a  tall  handsome  woman  of  commanding 
appearance.  Moreover,  she  was  the  most  capable  woman  in 
all  the  wide  reaches  of  Cherry  Valley.  She  could  write  a 
paper  on  any  subject,  and  read  it  with  equal  excellence;  she 
was  a  good  housekeeper,  displaying  a  supernatural  ability  in 
managing  domestic  finances  which  made  it  possible  for  her 
family  to  live  in  comfort  on  a  country  minister's  salary; 
she  was  a  perfect  general  as  an  organiser;  was  the  leader 
in  the  many  activities  of  the  Church  and  community;  and 
was  a  better  public  speaker  than  her  husband. 

And  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  excellence  and  effi- 
ciency, Mrs.  Meldrum  was  always  in  a  state  of  bewildered 
helplessness  before  the  problem  of  her  restless,  busy,  frolic- 
some little  girl.  Janet  was  not  the  sort  of  thing  one  could 
catalogue  or  pigeon-hole.  The  Meldrums  had  married  late 
in  life,  and  their  little  daughter  was  more  like  a  beloved 
grandchild  than  their  own;  and  was  a  constant  source  of 
joy  and  alarm  and  startling  surprises. 

Her  mother  came  out  with  a  vague  idea  that  she  ought  to 
keep  Janet  still,  but  her  mind  was  on  the  paper  which  she 


"AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM"  13 

was  to  read  on  "Home  Ideas  and  Ideals"  at  the  next  meet- 
ing of  the  Women's  Institute.  She  sat  down,  unseeing,  in 
her  rocking-chair ;  and  Janet  made  a  dab  at  her  fourth 
stitch ;  but  stopped  in  the  middle  of  it  as  her  mother  folded 
her  paper. 

"Mother,  shall  I  run  to  the  gate  and  see  if  they  are 
coming?" 

"Janet,"  her  mother  was  picking  her  own  sewing  out  of  a 
very  untidy  basket,  "why  can  you  not  sit  at  your  hemming 
for  a  few  minutes  ?  Just  see  the  state  you  have  left  my  bas- 
ket in,  child !" 

"But,  Mother,  they  might  be  coming  up  the  hill  right  now ; 
and  I  ought  to  open  the  gate." 

"You've  been  to  the  gate  half-a-dozen  times  this  morning 
already;  and  you  know  very  well  Daddy  can't  get  home  till 
after  dinner.  Mr.  Balfour's  train  won't  be  in  until  one 
o'clock.  Besides,  you  would  be  sure  to  hear  the  car  long 
before  you  could  see  it.  Do  try  to  sit  still  like  a  good  girl." 

Janet  struggled  with  her  thread  in  silence  for  the  space  of 
five  seconds. 

"Mother,  what  do  you  think  he'll  look  like?"  she  asked. 

"Who  ?"  asked  her  mother  absorbed  in  fitting  a  triangular 
patch  upon  an  octagonal  rent  in  Janet's  school  dress. 

"Why,  Mr.  Balfour,"  Janet  wondered  how  her  mother 
could  be  thinking  of  anything  else.  "He'll  have  to  be  our 
father  when  Daddy's  away,  won't  he?" 

Her  mother  laughed.  It  was  always  a  source  of  wonder 
to  Janet  why  her  mother  and  father  so  often  laughed  at  her 
most  serious  remarks ;  but  as  laughter  was  always  easy  and 
pleasant,  she  laughed  too. 

"I'm  afraid  not.  He's  very  young,  not  through  College 
yet ;  and  he'll  be  more  like  a  big  brother.  But  you  must  re- 
member, Janet,  when  he  is  here  you  mustn't  run  in  and  out 
of  the  study  as  you  do  with  Father.  You  must  keep  away 
from  him,  and  not  be  too  noisy ;  and  you  must  not  ask  him 
questions  about  anything  whatever." 

Janet  sighed  a  loud,  windy  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan. 
This  strange  man,  who  was  to  take  Daddy's  pulpit  and  his 


14  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

study  and  all  his  work  in  the  next  few  montns,  while  poor 
Daddy  was  away  trying  to  get  his  health  back,  promised  to 
make  even  breathing  very  difficult.  She  had  had  so  many 
rules  laid  down  regarding  her  conduct  towards  him  that  life 
was  going  to  be  too  complicated  to  live. 

She  took  another  stitch  and  her  thread  became  tangled 
again, — a  very  dreadful  tangle ;  but  right  in  the  midst  of  it 
came  a  sound  that  turned  her  rigid.  She  sat  perfectly  still, 
her  ears  strained ; — yes,  there  it  was — Bud's  yell !  It  came 
from  behind  the  church.  The  Kellys  were  back  and  had 
started  their  ball  game! 

Janet  loved  the  noisy,  untidy  Kelly  family  with  all  her 
heart  and  all  her  mind  and  all  her  strength;  and  she  loved 
her  neighbour,  Bud  Kelly,  as  herself.  She  was  possessed  of 
a  longing  that  was  a  positive  pain  to  dash  back  through 
the  orchard  and  over  the  fence  and  pitch  herself  into  that 
game. 

She  looked  up  with  despairing  eyes,  but  her  mother  fore- 
stalled her  pleading. 

"There  are  those  noisy,  idle  children,"  she  declared.  "It 
is  really  shocking  to  think  that  Mrs.  Kelly  does  not  keep 
them  at  home.  Molly  and  Rosie  ought  to  be  learning  to 
sew." 

Janet  knew  this  was  a  sermon  for  her.  She  heaved  an- 
other sigh,  a  loud,  despairing  expulsion  of  breath ;  and  drew 
her  thread  through  the  fourth  stitch  with  a  jerk. 

"Would  it  be  very  bad  if  I  never  learned  to  sew,  Mother?" 
she  asked,  rocking  violently  in  her  little  chair.  "I  think  I'll 
be  'most  near  a  hundred  years  old  before  I  get  this  towel 
hemmed;  and  then  there  -von't  be  time  for  anything  else. 
I'll  be  older  than  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson." 

"You  need  patience,  Janet.  Of  course  all  little  girls  must 
learn  to  sew." 

"Well,  Miss  Mitchell  can't  sew,  and  she's  a  school-teacher ; 
and  she  told  Marjorie  Gillespie  she  couldn't  learn  if  she  lived 
as  old  as  Methuselah.  Miss  Lena  told  us  about  him  in  Sun- 
day School  last  Sunday.  Mother,  didn't  everybody  live 
awfully  old  in  those  days?  Why,  you  must  have  had  so 


"AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM"  15 

many  grandmas  and  grandpas  you'd  never  be  able  to  visit 
them  all.  I'm  glad  I  didn't  live  then  if  I'd  have  to  hem 
a  towel  every  Saturday,"  she  added  mournfully. 

"I  can't  understand  why  you  don't  like  hemming,  Janet," 
said  her  mother,  regarding  her  with  puzzled  eyes.  "I  had 
to  learn  to  sew  when  I  was  a  little  girl ;  and  yet  Grandpa 
Fraser  was  well  off  and  gave  us  all  many  advantages.  When 
your  Auntie  Flora  and  Auntie  Jean  and  I  were  little 
girls " 

Janet  stopped  rocking  and  listened  in  humble  patience  to 
the  oft  heard  recital  of  the  perfect  deeds  Mother  and  Aunt 
Flora  and  Aunt  Jean  had  performed  in  their  youth. 

"I  wish  Grandpa  Fraser  hadn't  gone  and  got  poor,"  de- 
clared Janet  practically.  "But  I  suppose  I'd  have  had  to 
sew  anyhow,"  she  added  with  another  sigh. 

She  leaned  back  and  began  rocking  again  to  drown  the 
joyous  sounds  from  the  back  pasture  field.  Janet  was  of  an 
argumentative  turn  and  did  not  readily  give  up  her  side  of 
the  question. 

"I  don't  see  why  I'll  need  to  sew,  Mother,  if  I'm  going 
to  be  a  singer,"  she  suggested. 

Her  mother  looked  up  from  her  sewing,  a  twinkle  of 
amusement  in  her  fine  eyes. 

"So  you've  decided  to  be  a  singer,  have  you?" 

"Yes,  Nellie's  uncle  says  she's  got  a  lovely  voice,  and 
she  must  be  a  singer  some  day.  And  we  both  always  said 
we'd  be  the  same  thing.  So  I'm  going  to  be  a  singer,  too. 
I'm  going  to  be  a  great  singer  and  make  a  lot  of  money. 
Miss  Lena  says  that  her  cousin  Sylvia  gets  heaps  of  money 
for  singing.  And  she  can't  sew — I  know,  'cause  Miss 
Sarah  Kennedy  was  making  her  a  dress  yesterday,  and  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Murphy,  I  heard  her,  'Sylvia  Ward  wouldn't 
have  a  rag  to  her  back  if  it  wasn't  for  me !'  " 

"Well,  well,  dear,"  her  mother  said  vaguely,  not  having 
heard  half  the  chatter. 

"I  suppose  it's  awfully  wicked  to  wish  you  were  rich, 
like  you  used  to  be,  Mother,"  said  Janet,  gazing  dreamily 


16  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

down  the  dazzling  rows  of  gladioli  that  bordered  the  little 
path  to  the  gate,  "but  if  we  were  rich  we  could  go  to  Cali- 
fornia with  Father,  couldn't  we?  But  old  Mr.  Gibbie 
Gibson  said  at  prayer-meeting  that  money  was  awfully  bad 
for  young  people.  What'll  he  do  with  all  the  money  he  has, 
Mother  ?  Won't  he  give  any  of  it  to  Jimmie  and  the  children 
for  fear  it'll  hurt  them?" 

Her  mother  smiled.  There  was  no  doubt  that  old  Gibbie 
Gibson  meant  other  people's  children  when  he  spoke  of  the 
evil  effects  of  money.  But  she  did  not  voice  her  thoughts. 
She  had  already  learned  that  discretion  was  the  only  safe 
part  of  daily  conduct.  Her  little  girl  had  an  uncanny  mem- 
ory and  an  embarrassing  truthfulness  that  was  often  in 
danger  of  bringing  discredit  upon  the  minister's  household. 

"If  I  could  make  a  lot  of  money  singing,"  declared  Janet, 
poking  her  needle  into  her  stocking,  "I'd  buy  stacks  and 
stacks  of  things.  I'd  buy  Mrs.  Kelly  a  new  shawl ;  and  I'd 
buy  Bud  a  cabinet  for  his  bugs ;  and  I'd  buy  two  tickets  to 
take  us  both  to  California  with  Daddy;  and  I'd  buy  a  new 
collar  for  Pepper ;  and  a  ribbon,  a  pink  satin  one,  for  Blackie ; 
and  I'd  buy  a  new  Bible  for  Kirsty;  and  a  new  piano  for 
Miss  Lena;  and  I'd  buy  a  plain  gold  ring  for  Martha 
Beckett.  Miss  Mitchell  told  Marjorie,  and  Nellie  heard  her, 
and  Nellie  told  me,  that  Martha  Beckett  wanted  a  plain 
gold  ring  worse  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  and  I'd 
buy  her  a  great  big  one, — I'd  buy  her  two,"  she  added  gen- 
erously. 

It  was  impossible  to  put  off  the  next  stitch  any  longer, 
but  just  as  Janet  was  about  to  take  it,  there  came  a  pleasant 
interruption.  Over  in  the  lilac  bush  at  the  end  of  the 
veranda  a  little  grey  song  sparrow  seated  himself  upon  a 
twig,  and  with  his  wee  head  on  one  s;de  and  his  bright  eye 
on  Janet,  he  called  to  her : 

"Chip,  chip,  chip,  chip,  chip,  che-e-e-e-e! 
Can't  you  sit  and  sew? 
Sew  a  straighter  seam-some-soon !" 


"AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM"  17 

Janet  jumped  out  of  her  chair  with  a  little  squeal  of 
delight. 

"Oh,  Mother,  did  you  hear  what  he's  saying?"  She 
burst  into  a  delighted  peal  of  laughter,  and  the  litttle  singer 
shot  to  the  other  end  of  the  garden.  "Wasn't  he  a  dear 
darling?  Did  you  hear  what  he  said?" 

Her  mother  glanced  at  her  with  indulgent,  smiling  eyes, 
but  eyes  that  did  not  comprehend. 

"No,  dear,  I  didn't  hear ;  what  did  he  say  ?" 

Janet  sang  over  the  little  ditty.  "Wasn't  he  cute?  Isn't 
that  just  what  he  said  ?" 

"I  suppose  it  is  like  it,  but  you  haven't  imitated  his  little 
tune  very  well.  I  wish  your  ear  were  truer,  Janet." 

"Bud  must  have  true  ears,  because  he  knows  every  word 
all  the  birds  say.  He  tells  me  all  their  songs.  Oh,  listen! 
There  he  goes  again !  He's  over  in  Caldwell's  grove !" 

She  tip-toed  to  the  end  of  the  veranda. 

"Oh,  Mother!"  she  whispered.  "There's  a  humming- 
bird !  Look !  Over  there  above  the  cosmos !" 

Her  mother  looked  up,  just  awakened  to  the  fact  that 
Janet  was  not  at  her  task. 

"Janet !"  she  called  in  a  voice  a  little  sterner.  "There  is 
your  work  thrown  upon  the  floor,  and  you  are  idling.  Re- 
member what  the  little  bird  said." 

Janet  came  slowly  back  and  again  took  up  the  dreadful 
burden  of  her  sewing. 

"I  guess  he  never  hemmed  a  towel  or  he  wouldn't  talk 
like  that,"  she  declared  rather  resentfully.  "Oh,  Mother, 
don't  you  think  towels  you  buy  in  the  store  are  ever  so  much 
nicer.  They're  already  hemmed." 

Her  thoughts  still  occupied  with  the  "Ideals  of  Home," 
Mrs.  Meldrum  was  giving  little  heed.  She  had  learned  long 
ago  that  if  she  gave  her  attention  to  all  Janet  said  and  did 
she  would  have  time  for  nothing  else. 

Janet  jabbed  in  her  needle  for  her  sixth  stitch,  and  with 
it  her  morning's  sewing  came  to  a  welcome  end. 

Across  the  street  the  gate  of  the  Caldwell's  beautiful  gar- 
den opened  and  a  boy,  a  little  bigger  than  Janet,  emerged 


18  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

sedately.  He  wore  a  very  clean  collar,  his  blue  suit  was 
brushed,  his  hair  was  smooth  and  he  stepped  across  the 
street  carefully  so  that  no  dust  should  obscure  the  lustre 
of  his  boots. 

Janet  gave  a  leap  from  her  seat,  waving  the  towel  in  the 
air. 

"Hello,  Len!"  she  cried.  'There's  Lennie,  Mother! 
There's  Lennie!  It's  time  for  practice.  May  I  go  now? 
Hello,  Lennie !  I'm  coming !"  and  she  dashed  indoors  for 
her  hat. 


CHAPTER  II 
GOES  A-SINGING 

JANET  could  never  understand  why  she  was  always  com- 
pelled to  take  a  hat  wherever  she  went;  for  it  was  al- 
ways hanging  down  her  back  by  its  elastic,  or  blowing  away 
over  the  fields.  But  the  placing  of  it  upon  her  head  before 
she  left  home  was  a  ceremony  upon  which  her  mother 
insisted,  and  had  to  be  performed. 

But  Janet's  hat  was  always  astray.  She  made  a  frantic 
survey  of  the  big  bare  parlour;  under  the  old  square  piano 
behind  the  faded  upholstered  sofa.  Pepper  also  circled  rap- 
idly around  the  room  but  neither  of  them  discovered  the 
truant.  Neither  was  it  in  the  big  bare  dining-room  through 
which  they  dashed.  It  must  have  been  left  in  the  kitchen. 
Janet  cautiously  approached  the  door  leading  thereto.  This 
was  Kirsty's  domain  and  not  to  be  intruded  upon  lightly. 

Kirsty  McLeod  had  been  a  member  of  the  household 
longer  than  Janet  had,  and  the  little  daughter  of  the  Manse 
had  a  profound  respect  for  her.  Every  Saturday  morning 
she  put  the  kitchen  through  a  special  pre-Sabbath  cleaning, 
and  in  view  of  the  advent  of  the  new  minister  Kirsty  had 
scrubbed  and  rubbed  and  scoured  to-day  until  the  place 
fairly  glittered.  The  stove  had  taken  on  such  a  high  polish 
that  the  shining  tea-kettle  was  reflected  in  its  surface  as  in 
a  pool  of  water.  The  glass  doors  of  the  high  old  cupboard 
and  the  plates  and  cups  behind  them  shone  in  the  morning 
sunlight.  The  crisp  white  curtains  swayed  gently  in  the 
breeze.  The  floor  was  as  white  as  the  ceiling  and  the  walls 
were  as  clean  as  the  floor. 

And  in  the  midst  of  this  perfection  a  tall  angular  woman 
in  a  dark  blue  apron,  her  grey  hair  pulled  straight  back  in 

19 


20  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

a  tight  little  knot  from  her  thin  wrinkled  face,  stood  at  the 
white  oil-cloth  covered  table  preparing  dinner. 

Janet's  bright  eyes,  peeping  through  a  very  narrow  open- 
ing in  the  door,  took  this  all  in  apprehensively.  Kirsty  had 
to  be  approached;  it  was  never  safe  to  burst  into  the 
kitchen  as  one  would  into  Father's  study. 

"Please,  Kirsty,"  she  asked  through  the  narrow  crack, 
"is  my  hat  here?" 

Kirsty  turned.  "Keep  yon  pup  out,"  she  commanded, 
spying  Pepper's  black  nose  between  Janet's  feet.  "An'  watch 
where  ye  step,  if  ye  must  come  in !" 

Janet  slammed  the  door  in  Pepper's  face,  leaving  him 
whining  indignantly  in  the  hall.  She  took  a  leaping  stride 
to  the  rag  mat  in  front  of  the  table. 

"Lennie's  waiting  for  me  to  go  to  practice,  and  I  can't 
find  my  hat,"  she  declared,  hopping  up  and  down  on  one 
foot  as  was  her  habit  when  she  was  in  a  hurry.  "Do  you 
know  what  I  did  with  it,  Kirsty?" 

"What-like  kind  o'  way  is  that  ye've  got  yer  hair?"  de- 
manded Kirsty.  "Come  here!  Ye're  no  goin'  out  o'  the 
house  that  fashion.  Ye  look  like  a  tinker's  bairn,  instead 
o'  the  minister's !" 

To  Janet's  dismay  Kirsty  took  down  a  comb  and  brush 
from  a  little  shelf  beneath  the  kitchen  mirror,  and  proceeded 
to  undo  the  little  girl's  long  heavy  braid.  She  submitted  to 
the  dreadful  ordeal  as  a  wild  creature  does  to  the  trap  that 
has  caught  it.  She  had  made  a  great  mistake  in  coming  to 
the  kitchen.  She  might  have  known  Kirsty  would  comb 
her  hair. 

But  there  was  no  use  arguing  the  matter ;  and  she  stood 
first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other  sighing  furiously. 

"I  wonder  what  Mr.  Balfour  will  be  like,  Kirsty,"  she 
said,  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  lighten  the  heavy  moments 
with  conversation.  "Mother  says  he  has  nice  brown  eyes." 

"It  matters  little  what  kinda  eyes  he  has,"  remarked 
Kirsty,  "as  long's  he  has  the  root  o'  the  matter  in  him.  The 
Lord  looketh  not  upon  the  outward  man.  Stand  still !" 

Janet  was  always  impressed  when  Kirsty  quoted  Scrip- 


GOES  A-SINGING  21 

ture,  which  was  quite  often,  for  Kirsty  knew  her  Bible. 
She  knew  when  a  sermon  was  all  it  ought  to  be,  too ;  and 
woe  betide  the  preacher  who  delivered  anything  but  the  plain 
gospel  in  Knox  pulpit.  Kirsty  would  catch  him,  no  matter 
how  he  might  have  the  downward  path  concealed  in  flowers 
of  rhetoric. 

"Oh,  Kirsty,"  cried  Janet  suddenly,  forgetting  her  hair. 
"What  will  become  of  us  all  when  Father  goes  away?" 

Kirsty  shook  her  head  dolefully. 

"The  Lord  preserve  us,"  she  said.  "We'll  be  havin'  sic 
a  like  time  as  niver  was,  with  all  the  lasses  runnin'  after  the 
young  minister.  Mark  my  words,  things'll  go  jist  tapsal- 
teerie !" 

Janet  listened  in  alarm.  "Running  after  him,  Kirsty? 
Why?  Will  he  be  running  away?" 

Kirsty  gave  a  queer  smile  that  went  over  to  one  side  of 
her  face  and  vanished  quickly  in  wrinkles. 

"Stand  still,"  she  commanded  again,  "I  can't  comb  yer 
hair  when  ye're  dancin'  an'  cuttin'  capers." 

Janet  wondered  about  Mr.  Balfour.  Perhaps  he  was  a 
great  runner  like  Pat  Murphy  and  took  prizes.  Daddy  said 
he  was  a  wonderful  football  player. 

"Will  he  be  running  races,  Kirsty?"  she  asked,  but  Kirsty 
did  not  trouble  to  answer.  The  longed  for  end  of  the  ordeal 
had  come.  Her  hair  was  combed.  "Yer  hat's  hangin'  in 
the  back  hall,"  Kirsty  informed  her.  "Now  run  away,  and 
don't  be  jumpin'  an'  kickin'  up  yer  heels,  but  act  like  a 
wise  bairn." 

Janet  left  Kirsty's  hands  as  the  arrow  leaves  the  bent 
bow.  She  tore  her  hat  from  its  nail,  and  dashed  out  to  the 
veranda.  Lennie  was  waiting  impatiently  at  the  gate. 

"Hurry  up,  Jenny,"  he  wailed,  "they've  started!" 

But  Janet  had  one  more  ordeal  to  pass  through  before 
she  was  free.  She  had  to  parade  for  inspection  before  her 
mother's  eye. 

"But,  Janet !  You  surely  don't  think  you're  ready  ?"  cried 
her  mother,  as  a  flurry  of  pink  gingham  whirled  round  on 
one  toe  in  front  of  her.  "Just  look  at  your  dress !" 


22  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Janet  stopped  short  and  looked  enquiringly  at  the  faded 
gingham. 

"Why,  Mother  ?    Won't  it  do?"  she  asked  in  dismay. 

"Certainly  it  won't  do  for  choir  practice.  I  want  you  to 
put  on  your  school  serge ;  it's  mended." 

"But,  Mother,  I'll  have  to  take  care  of  it!  I  can't  have 
a  good  time  when  I  wear  my  school  dress  on  Saturdays. 
I  have  to  be  thinking  about  Monday  all  the  time." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  that  will  be  an  advantage  if  it  will  keep 
you  from  running  about  as  you  do,  Janet." 

"Please,  Mother  dear.  It  just  makes  me  feel  stiff  all 
over  when  I  get  on  a  Monday  dress  on  Saturday !" 

"But  this  is  so  faded,  child.  I  can't  understand  why  you 
don't  like  pretty  clothes.  Think  how  nice  Nellie  will  look. 
She  won't  be  in  her  morning  dress." 

"But  Nellie  likes  dress-up  things.  And  I  like  old  things, 
and  we  just  have  a  lovely  time  if  we  wear  what  we  like. 
Please,  Mother!" 

"Really,  I  don't  understand  you,  Janet,"  sighed  her 
mother. 

Janet  suddenly  drooped.  She  did  not  like  to  hear  her 
mother  sigh.  She  turned  away  with  a  despairing  glance 
towards  the  little  boy  at  the  gate. 

"Very  well,  I'll  go  and  put  it  on,"  she  said  in  such  a  dreary, 
hopeless  tone  that  her  mother  relented. 

"Oh,  well,  never  mind !  If  it's  going  to  make  you  feel 
like  that.  Run  away,  then,  like  a  good  child  and  don't  tor- 
ment me  any  more !" 

Janet  kissed  her  mother  rapturously  and  went  leaping 
down  the  steps,  Pepper,  far  ahead,  barking  with  joy;  for 
Pepper  always  went  to  the  Saturday  practice  and  considered 
himself  as  much  a  member  of  the  choir  as  Janet. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  you  hours  and  hours,"  complained 
her  cavalier.  "I  wish  Mother  wouldn't  make  me  call  for 
you,  Janet." 

"I  wish  she  wouldn't,  too,"  declared  Janet  agreeably. 
"Come  on,  run !  They've  started  to  sing !" 

The  sound  of  music  was  proceeding  from  the  basement 


GOES  A-SINGING  23 

of  Knox  Church,  and  Janet  flew  across  the  church  lawn 
and  up  the  walk,  her  hat  hanging  down  her  back,  her  attend- 
ant, who  had  waited  for  her  so  long,  complaining  far  in  the 
rear. 

Janet  played  a  great  deal  with  Leonard  Caldwell,  be- 
cause he  lived  just  across  the  street  and  was  very  convenient, 
and  because  her  mother  wanted  her  to  play  with  him. 
Lennie  was  a  well-behaved,  nice,  tidy  little  boy,  and  Mrs. 
Meldrum  found  him  infinitely  preferable  to  the  Kelly  chil- 
dren as  a  companion  for  her  little  daughter.  Janet  liked 
Lennie,  because  she  liked  everybody,  but  she  never  sought 
his  company  unless  there  was  no  hope  of  Bud's;  for  some 
strange  reason  Janet's  conviction  was :  better  fifty  minutes 
of  Bud  Kelly  than  a  cycle  of  Lennie  Caldwell. 

They  ran  down  the  stairway  leading  to  the  basement, 
pushed  open  the  door  and  were  met  by  a  blast  of  music. 

Three  rows  of  vocalists  stretched  across  the  long  plat- 
form, and  facing  them,  book  and  baton  in  hand,  stood  the 
young  lady  whom,  above  all  others,  Janet  admired  and 
loved.  Miss  Lena  Sinclair  was  her  Sunday  School  teacher, 
and  in  her  pupil's  opinion,  quite  the  loveliest  and  best  teacher 
in  the  whole  world  of  Sunday  schools. 

At  the  little  organ  sat  another  young  lady,  and  two  or 
three  more  moved  about  among  the  lines  of  musicians,  jerk- 
ing an  unruly  chorister  into  good  behaviour,  or  encouraging 
a  backward  one. 

In  the  front  row  stood  the  younger  children  of  the  school, 
toes  turned  artlessly  inward,  most  of  them  bare,  too,  for 
the  summer  was  still  warm  in  the  Valley  and  many  of 
the  little  toes  of  Cherry  Hill  did  not  go  into  winter  hiding 
until  the  snow  fell.  They  stood  with  their  little  round  faces 
upturned  to  their  leader,  like  a  row  of  robins  on  a  cherry 
limb,  and  shouted  joyfully  the  first  stanza  of  the  opening 
chorus : 

"We  are  scholars  in  the  Sabbath  School 
Met  in  an-ni-ver-sa-ree. 
We  are  here  to  entertain  you  now 
And  we  hope  you'll  pleas-ed  be! 


24  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

We'll  recite  and  sing  you  songs  of  joy, 
And  some  dialogues  you'll  view; 
We  welcome  you,  indeed  we  do, 
To  our  An-ni-ver-sa-ree !" 

The  song  had  been  written  especially  for  the  occasion  by 
Jimmie  Gibson's  Allen,  who  was  something  of  a  poet.  It 
was  set  to  a  jolly  popular  air,  and  when  the  juvenile  choir 
raised  it  upon  their  robust  young  voices  the  low  ceiling  of 
the  basement  fairly  quivered. 

Janet  slipped  breathlessly  into  her  place,  and  just  taking 
time  to  smile  on  Bud,  who  was  already  there,  she  burst  into 
the  refrain: 

"We  welcome  you, 
Indeed  we  do, 
To  our  An-ni-ver-sa-ree!" 

Janet's  place  was  at  the  larger  end  of  the  front  row. 
She  was  old  enough  to  be  placed  in  the  second,  but  she  was 
small  for  her  ten  years.  Beside,  she  loved  the  front  row 
in  all  performances,  and  was  so  eager  to  be  in  it  that  an 
indulgent  teacher  found  it  impossible  to  put  her  back.  It 
was  not  that  Janet  wanted  to  be  seen ;  she  was  at  all  times 
utterly  unconscious  of  Janet  Meldrum.  It  was  merely  that 
she  was  so  intensely  interested  in  everyone  and  everything 
about  her ;  and  the  front  row  was  the  best  place  to  see  and 
hear. 

She  loved  to  sing,  too,  as  she  loved  everything  that  had 
to  do  with  noise  and  motion ;  she  was  standing,  now,  half-a- 
foot in  advance  of  her  fellows,  shouting  at  the  top  of  her 
lung  power.  And  even  the  long  braid  of  brown  hair,  that 
hung  almost  to  the  hem  of  her  pink  gingham  frock,  fairly 
quivered  with  enjoyment. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  chorus,  Miss  Lena  Sinclair 
paused,  baton  suspended,  and  looked  with  a  pained  expres- 
sion towards  the  larger  end  of  the  smallest  row.  Then 
Martha  Beckett,  who  had  been  forcing  the  overworked  little 
organ  to  keep  pace  with  the  galloping  chorus,  got  up  from 
her  tread-mill  and  crossed  over  to  the  leader.  They  whis- 


GOES  A-SINGING  25 

pered  together  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  looked  towards 
Janet,  glancing  away  again  quickly,  when  they  caught  her 
big  grey  eyes  shining  eagerly  upon  them. 

The  chorus  stopped  shoving  and  whispering  and  strained 
its  small  ears  to  listen.  But  all  they  gained  was,  first  the 
cryptic  message  from  Miss  Sinclair:  "I  don't  like  to,"  in 
a  very  feeble  tone;  and  from  Martha  Beckett,  in  a  very 
forcible  one,  "Well,  it's  got  to  be  done,  and  you're  the  one 
that  ought  to  do  it !  It's  awful." 

Whatever  it  was  that  ought  to  be  done,  and  was  awful, 
was  evidently  not  to  be  done  just  then,  for  a  further  whis- 
pered argument  ended  in  the  conclusion  from  the  leader: 
"After  a  while:  wait  till  next  practice,"  and  Martha 
Beckett  tossed  her  head  and  said  something  about  "par- 
tiality" and  flounced  back  to  the  little  organ,  fairly  making 
it  squeal  for  mercy  as  the  choir  once  more  burst  into  the 
chorus : 

"We  are  scholars  in  the  Sabbath  School 
Met  in  An-ni-ver-sa-ree !" 

When  the  practice  was  over  and  the  choristers  had  gone 
storming  down  the  flower-lined  village  street,  Janet  waited 
behind  to  gather  up  the  hymn  books  for  her  beloved  Miss 
Sinclair,  and  Nellie  Gillespie  waited  because  Janet  did,  as 
was  her  habit. 

The  teachers  were  down  by  the  door  giving  their  last 
admonitions  regarding  the  next  practice  to  the  rapidly  dimin- 
ishing crowd.  The  room  was  becoming  empty  and  quiet. 
As  she  gathered  up  the  books,  Janet  was  singing  softly  the 
words  of  the  last  hymn : 

"Looking  upward  every  day, 

Sunshine  on  our  faces, 
Journeying  nearer  day  by  day 
Toward  the  heavenly  places." 

Her  child's  soul  was  thrilled  by  its  half-guessed  meaning, 
and  she  sang  joyously,  spontaneously,  as  the  birds  or  the 
angels  sing. 


26  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Jenny,"  said  her  little  curly-headed  chum,  pausing  with 
a  pile  of  tattered  books  held  in  her  small  brown  hands, 
"What  makes  you  sing  that  way?  You  always  sing  so 
queer." 

"How  do  I  sing?"  asked  Janet,  not  in  the  least  annoyed, 
but  only  very  much  interested.  "I  sing  just  the  same  as 
you  do,  don't  I?" 

"No,  you  don't.  You  sing  awful  queer.  Rosie  Kelly 
says  you  were  singin'  alto  all  the  time  to-day." 

Janet  was  still  more  interested.  This  was  really  very 
flattering.  Miss  Lena  Sinclair  sang  alto  in  the  choir  on 
Sundays;  and  how  delightful  to  think  she  was  like  her. 
Perhaps  she  would  sit  beside  her  in  the  big  choir  one  day, 
and  they  would  sing  off  the  same  book! 

"Was  I?"  she  cried  greatly  pleased.  "Why,  that's  just 
like  Miss  Lena,  isn't  it?" 

Nellie  was  puzzled.  She  had  a  sensitive  musical  ear, 
and  knew  there  was  something  wrong  with  Janet's  conclu- 
sion. 

"No,  I  don't  think  it's  the  same,"  she  argued.  "You 
always  know  when  you're  singing  alto.  You  have  to  do  it  on 
purpose." 

But  Janet  was  not  going  to  bother  her  head  about  such 
a  small  matter.  Bud  was  waiting  outside,  and  she  caught 
up  the  last  pile  of  books  and  ran  up  to  the  platform.  The 
teachers  had  settled  themselves  around  a  table  for  a  con- 
ference on  the  difficult  matter  of  cutting  down  the  pro- 
gramme to  less  than  a  four-hour  performance. 

"Now  that's  seven  recitations,"  Miss  Mitchell  was  saying, 
"and  we  simply  can't  have  another  one.  I  suppose  the 
whole  clan  Gibson  will  be  up  in  arms,  though,  if  young 
Bella  isn't  allowed  to  show  off." 

Miss  Mitchell  was  Janet's  teacher  in  the  public  school.  In 
Janet's  vocabulary  a  teacher  was  an  exalted  person,  made 
to  be  loved  and  adored.  So  of  course  Miss  Mitchell  must  be 
exalted  and  adorable.  But  her  halo  was  somewhat  dimmed 
by  a  habit  of  impaling  folk  upon  sharp  remarks  such  as  she 
had  just  uttered.  Janet  slipped  around  to  the  side  where 


GOES  A-SINGING  27 

Miss  Lena  sat,  and  put  the  books  in  a  neat  pile  on  her 
corner  of  the  table. 

"Here's  Janet  now,  Lena,"  cried  Martha  Beckett,  inter- 
rupting Miss  Sinclair's  gracious  thanks.  "You'd  better 
tell  her." 

"Miss  Sinclair  thinks  you'd  better  be  in  a  dialogue,  in- 
stead of  the  choir,  Janet,"  she  added. 

Miss  Lena  coughed  and  looked  confused. 

"I'm  getting  up  a  lovely  dialogue,  Janet,  with  five  little 
girls  in  it,"  said  Miss  Mitchell,  coming  to  her  friend's  aid. 
"Wouldn't  you  rather  be  in  that  than  in  the  choir?" 

The  little  girl's  eyes  shone.  "Oh,  Miss  Mitchell !  I'd  just 
love  to  be  in  both !  Could  I  ?" 

Martha  Beckett  giggled,  Miss  Mitchell  smiled,  and  Miss 
Lena  looked  distressed. 

"Maybe  you  could  sing  a  solo,  too,"  suggested  Martha 
Beckett. 

Janet  clasped  her  small  brown  hands. 

"Oh,  oh,  could  I?"  she  gasped.  "I'd  love  that  more'n 
anything.  I'm  going  to  be  a  singer  some  day  like  Sylvia 
Ward  and  it  would  be  a  start!  I — I  can  sing  'The  Holy 
City/  "  she  suggested. 

Martha  Beckett  and  Miss  Mitchell  burst  out  laughing, 
and  even  Miss  Lena  smiled.  Janet  did  not  know  why,  but 
she  laughed  with  them.  And  she  did  not  understand  either, 
why  Miss  Lena  drew  her  close,  suddenly,  and  kissed  her. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  stand  in  the  second  row,  beside 
Nellie,  dear?"  she  asked,  with  an  apologetic  glance  towards 
her  assistants. 

Janet  Meldrum  always  spoke  out  the  truth,  frankly  and 
uncompromisingly;  so,  as  she  did  not  at  all  want  to  leave 
the  front  row,  even  to  stand  beside  Nellie,  she  said  so. 

"No,  thank  you,  Miss  Lena.  I'd  far  rather  stand  in  front, 
if  you  don't  mind.  I.  can  see  everything  so  much  better 
there." 

Martha  Beckett  giggled  again,  and  Janet  giggled  with 
her;  but  Miss  Lena  still  looked  worried. 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  it,  dearie,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "I 


28  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

think  you'd  better  stand  beside  Nellie  at  the  next  practice, 
though,  just  to  see  how  nice  it  is." 

"Has  the  new  preacher  come  yet,  Janet?"  asked  Martha 
Beckett,  standing  up  to  fix  her  beflowered  hat  and  her 
puffed  hair  before  a  little  mirror  she  had  propped  up  on 
the  organ. 

Janet  watched  her,  absorbed.  "Not  yet;  Father's  gone 
to  Algonquin  for  him.  But  Kirsty  says  she's  afraid  he'll 
run  away." 

"Run  away?"  asked  all  the  young  ladies,  now  very  much 
interested,  and  Martha  Beckett,  her  mouth  full  of  pins, 
turned  and  exclaimed:  "Sakes  alive;  who  with?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Janet,  "but  Kirsty  says  that  all 
the  lassies  will  be  running  after  him  and " 

There  was  a  scream  of  laughter  in  which  Janet  joined. 
She  loved  to  hear  people  laugh  and  enjoy  themselves,  and 
always  laughed  with  them  for  sheer  joy. 

"What  else  did  she  say,  Janet?"  asked  Martha  Beckett 
eagerly.  But  Lena  Sinclair  put  a  stop  to  the  fun. 

"You  and  Nellie  had  better  run  away  home  now,  darlings," 
she  said.  "We  have  some  more  work  to  do.  Come  early 
next  Saturday.  Bye-bye!" 

Janet  and  Nellie  danced  away  down  the  narrow  cement 
walk,  their  arms  around  each  other.  Lennie  had  gone 
home  long  ago,  for  he  was  never  allowed  to  play  on  the 
street  with  the  rough  village  children.  Bud  was  out  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  with  a  crowd  of  boys,  playing  "hop- 
step-and-jump."  As  the  little  girls  paused  to  watch,  his 
brilliant  red  head  and  small  thin  body  went  up  into  the  air  in 
a  long  leap  that  took  him  far  beyond  the  tracks  of  the  latest 
competitor. 

Janet  was  unable  to  suppress  a  shout  of  triumph;  she 
turned  away  regretfully.  Like  Lennie  she  was  never  al- 
lowed to  play  out  on  the  street,  and  mother  would  be  watch- 
ing for  her  return. 

"Miss  Lena  said  I  was  to  stand  beside  you  at  next  prac- 
tice, Nell,"  she  said  in  parting.  "I'd  rather  stand  in  the 
front  line  at  the  concert  where  I  can  see  Mother  and  every- 


GOES  A-SINGING  29 

body  better;  but  I  guess  Miss  Lena  thinks  I'm  too  big  and 
it'll  be  lovely  beside  you,"  she  added,  putting  her  arm 
around  Nellie  again. 

Nellie  returned  the  embrace  warmly. 

"Oh,  won't  that  be  dandy !  But  you  won't  sing  loud,  will 
you,  Jenny,  when  you  stand  beside  me?  'Cause  when  you 
do,  you  always  put  me  off  the  tune." 


CHAPTER  III 

i 

MEETS  A  NEW  FRIEND 

ALL  afternoon,  as  Janet  played  alone  in  the  orchard, 
her  busy  thoughts  returned  again  and  again  to  Nellie's 
warning.  She  wondered  how  it  was  that  Nellie  could  be  so 
easily  put  off  a  tune.  She  herself  had  never  had  such 
an  experience.  And  yet  she  was  always  being  warned 
against  derailing  other  singers. 

Father  was  always  saying,  when  they  sang  around  the 
piano  in  the  evenings,  "Softly,  daughter,  don't  sing  so 
loud.  You'll  put  us  all  off  the  tune." 

And  often  in  church,  when  Janet's  soul  was  lifted  up  on 
the  wings  of  the  morning  psalm,  and  her  voice  followed,  her 
mother  would  whisper: 

"Hush,  Janet,  don't  sing  that  way.  You'll  put  everyone 
off  the  tune." 

Mother  was  expecting  the  Ladies'  Aid  this  afternoon. 
They  were  to  meet  for  sewing  and  a  cup  of  tea  afterwards, 
and  Janet  had  been  cautioned  to  play  in  the  orchard  be- 
hind the  house,  while  they  were  arriving.  This  was  a  very 
painful  restriction.  She  could  not  even  swing  on  the  gate 
and  watch  for  Daddy  and  the  new  minister ;  and  then  Bud 
might  pass  any  minute  and  she  would  miss  him. 

The  orchard  was  a  very  delightful  place,  however;  its 
boughs  laden  with  crimson  and  golden  apples.  Away  down 
at  the  farther  end  was  Janet's  chicken  yard,  where  the  hens 
scratched  and  sang  merrily  in  the  sunshine.  But  Janet  was 
alone  in  her  paradise  and  could  not  enjoy  it.  Of  course, 
there  was  always  Leola,  and  for  a  while  she  amused  her- 
self chasing  her  around  the  orchard  trees  with  Pepper's 
valuable  assistance.  Leola  was  Janet's  twin  sister,  whom 

30 


MEETS  A  NEW  FRIEND  31 

nobody  but  Janet  knew.  She  was  her  invisible  comrade 
who,  when  Bud  Kelly  or  other  less  favoured  companions 
failed,  was  summoned  out  of  the  shadows  to  help  Janet 
run  and  jump  and  climb  trees. 

Janet  grew  tired  of  her  at  last,  and  wandered  towards 
the  house,  seeking  new  amusement.  That  was  one  con- 
venient thing  about  Leola,  she  could  be  dismissed  at  a 
moment's  notice,  and  you  didn't  have  to  trouble  to  put  her 
away  or  bring  her  in  out  of  the  rain.  Blackie,  her  pet  cat, 
was  sleeping  as  usual  in  the  sunshine  on  the  back  porch. 
He  arose  to  meet  Janet  in  his  dignified  manner,  stretching 
himself  lazily.  But  just  then  Pepper  came  bounding  up ; 
and,  with  an  air  of  disgust,  Blackie  turned  away  and  curled 
up  in  the  sunshine  again.  Janet  stooped  to  fondle  the  big 
black  pussy,  and  slowly  entered  the  back  hall,  taking  care  to 
avoid  the  kitchen,  lest  Kirsty  capture  her  and  comb  her 
hair  again. 

The  parlour  door  stood  ajar,  and  from  it  came  a  murmur 
of  voices,  and  a  pleasant  clatter  of  tea  cups.  Janet  stopped 
in  dismay ;  she  had  forgotten  the  Ladies'  Aid.  She  was  sud- 
denly aware  of  the  dust  on  her  shoes,  of  water  splashed 
down  the  front  of  her  dress,  of  the  fact  that  her  long  braid 
had  lost  its  confining  ribbon.  And  where  in  the  world  was 
it  gone?  And  how  was  it  she  had  not  noticed  before  that 
one  stocking  was  hanging  down  below  her  boot  top?  She 
tip-toed  cautiously  past  the  parlour  door,  and  as  cautiously 
slipped  up  the  stairs.  She  knew  she  dared  not  walk  into 
a  Ladies'  Aid  meeting  in  this  plight.  Janet  would  not  have 
minded  in  the  least,  herself ;  but  her  mother  had  impressed 
the  fact  upon  her  that,  when  meetings  were  being  held  in 
the  parlour,  she  was  to  arrange  her  hair  and  wash  her  hands 
and  face  before  appearing. 

She  mounted  the  stairs  heavily.  This  endless  washing  of 
hands  and  combing  of  hair  was  a  great  burden.  She  won- 
dered why  girls  could  not  have  their  hair  cut  off  the  same 
as  boys  had,  and  why  all  people  didn't  live  like  the  Kellys, 
who  were  never  bothered  about  soap  and  water. 

She  glanced  in  at  the  neat  white  bed  and  crisp  curtains 


32  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

of  the  guest  room.  It  was  in  immaculate  order,  ready  for 
the  new  minister.  There  was  one  crimson,  velvet-like  dahlia 
in  a  tall  vase  on  the  dresser;  the  floral  offering  Mother 
always  made  to  a  guest.  Janet  went  on  to  her  own  little 
room,  where  she  made  some  half-hearted  attempts  to  repair 
the  ravages  of  her  play.  She  washed  her  hands,  made  up 
her  mind  that  her  face  was  clean  enough,  and  that  it  was 
impossible  to  do  anything  with  her  hair,  and  having  re- 
paired the  breach  between  her  suspender  and  her  stocking, 
decided  she  was  ready  to  go  downstairs.  There  was  an 
iced  cake  to  be  passed  around,  and  already  the  odour  of 
Kirsty's  tea  was  wafted  up  the  stairs. 

But  as  she  passed  her  mother's  room  she  stopped.  The 
bed  was  laid  out  in  a  tempting  array  of  hats  and  bonnets  and 
light  wraps.  Janet  wondered  if  it  would  be  very  wicked  to 
try  them  on.  There  was  Nellie's  mother's  hat,  a  beautiful 
black  straw  trimmed  with  purple  flowers.  But  both  she 
and  Nellie  had  tried  it  on  many  times  before,  so  it  did  not 
present  any  unexplored  territory.  But  there  was  young 
Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson's  hat.  She  had  been  married  only 
about  a  month,  and  her  bridal  array  was  still  astonishing  the 
village.  Janet  took  up  the  beautiful  creation  of  white  tulle 
and  pink  roses,  and  placed  it  aslant  on  the  top  of  her  tousled 
head.  But  it  drooped  so  far  over  her  face  that  she  could  not 
see  herself  in  the  glass.  Then  she  tried  on  Susie  Beckett's 
mother's  bonnet,  and  Miss  Lena's  mother's  hat,  and  Lennie's 
mother's  toque,  and  several  others,  all  of  which  she  could 
identify. 

But,  like  Goldilocks,  who  had  to  try  each  bear's  bed  be- 
fore she  found  her  choice,  Janet  at  last  discovered  a  head- 
dress exactly  to  her  taste.  It  was  old  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson's 
bonnet.  She  put  it  on  carefully,  tying  the  long  silk  ribbons 
under  her  chin.  Then  she  picked  up  the  old  lady's  plaid 
shawl  and  put  it  around  her  shoulder.  Mrs.  Gibson's 
"seein'  specs"  were  folded  in  a  clean  handkerchief  under 
the  shawl.  Janet  put  them  on,  too.  She  felt  there  was 
something  lacking,  so  she  went  into  her  mother's  closet  and 
got  out  an  old  skirt.  By  tying  it  up  under  her  armpits  she 


MEETS  A  NEW  FRIEND  33 

managed  to  walk  in  it.  Then  she  looked  in  the  glass  and 
laughed  with  glee  at  her  appearance. 

And  just  then  to  make  things  complete,  Pepper,  who  had 
been  sniffing  all  over  the  house  for  her,  came  bounding  in. 
Janet  grabbed  him  up  joyfully,  and  staggered  off,  in  her 
clinging  garments,  to  her  own  room.  Here  it  was  but  the 
work  of  a  minute  to  dress  up  the  little  dog  as  a  baby.  Pep- 
per had  often  been  subjected  to  such  treatment  before  and 
was  used  to  it  now,  but  he  did  not  submit  without  many 
grumblings  and  complainings;  which  Janet  hushed  and 
soothed  as  if  he  were  a  real  baby.  Then,  clasping  him  in 
her  arms,  she  trailed  away  down  the  hall  to  visit  Leola  in 
the  study. 

She  was  so  engrossed  that  she  did  not  hear  a  car  stopping 
at  the  gate,  nor  the  sound  of  the  front  door  opening,  nor  her 
father's  voice  as  he  left  his  new  assistant  at  the  front  door. 

"Run  right  in,  while  I  put  away  the  car,"  it  said.  "If  you 
don't  see  the  lady  of  the  Manse  go  right  upstairs  to  the 
study.  It's  the  first  door  to  the  right." 

The  new  minister  was  not  yet  through  college;  he  was 
very  young,  and  rather  afraid  of  women.  When  he  opened 
the  Manse  door  his  startled  ears  were  assailed  by  a  clatter 
of  cups  and  tongues  issuing  from  an  open  door  facing  him. 
He  turned  and  silently  fled  upstairs  to  the  sanctuary  of  the 
minister's  study.  As  he  reached  the  top  step  he  stopped  in 
astonishment. 

Coming  to  meet  him  was  a  very  small  old  lady  in  a  big 
black  bonnet  that  enveloped  her  head  like  a  hood,  a  trailing 
black  dress,  and  an  old  fashioned  plaid  shawl.  And  in  her 
arms  she  carried  a  squirming,  complaining  baby,  with  a 
pair  of  wicked,  black  eyes  gleaming  through  its  white  veil. 

Hugh  Balfour  had  a  heart  that  was  very  susceptible  to 
certain  influences.  He  loved  all  children;  he  was  particu- 
larly partial  to  little  girls ;  and  when  he  met  an  old  lady 
with  a  black  bonnet  and  shawl,  he  was  'hers  to  do  with  as 
she  pleased.  So  this  queer  combination  of  old  woman  and 
little  girl  was  absolutely  irresistible.  He  stopped,  stared, 
and  burst  out  laughing. 


34  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

The  old  lady  laughed,  too,  away  back  inside  her  bonnet  ; 
a  very  youthful,  joyous  laugh. 

"Oh,  my!"  she  exclaimed,  "are  you  the  new  minister?" 

"I  think  I  must  be." 

"Oh,  oh,  I'm  so  glad !" 

"Why?"  he  asked  delighted  at  such  a  warm  welcome. 

"Because  I  was  afraid  when  I  heard  you  coming  upstairs 
that  you  were  old  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  and  I've  got  her  bon- 
net and  her  shawl  on.  Did  you  think  I  was  Mrs.  Gibbie 
Gibson?" 

"Well,  I  wasn't  sure.  You  see  I  don't  quite  know  who 
you  are." 

"Well,  I'm  really  just  Janet,  inside  me,  but  outside  me 
I'm  Miss  Sylvia  Ward,  and  I  live  in  Algonquin,  and  this 
is  my  baby.  Do  you  mind  holding  him  for  a  minute  till  I 
take  off  this  shawl?  'Cause  maybe  they'll  be  coming  up 
soon,  and  I  guess  I've  been  pretty  bad  to  dress  up  like 
this  without  asking." 

The  old  lady  was  unconsciously  dropping  her  role  with  her 
costume. 

"I  hope  your  baby's  well,  ma'am,"  he  said  politely,  as 
he  put  down  his  suit-case  and  took  the  squirming  bundle 
under  his  arm. 

The  rumblings  beneath  the  shawl  grew  dangerously  loud, 
and  the  gleam  of  teeth  shone  through  the  baby's  veil. 

"He's  very  fretful,"  answered  the  anxious  old  lady,  catch- 
ing her  cue  joyfully,  "I'm  afraid  he's  teething." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  visitor.  "I  think  he's  got  all  the 
teeth  he  needs,  by  the  look  of  those  he's  showing  me." 

The  old  lady  giggled  again.  Janet  always  saw  a  joke 
ahead  and  ran  to  meet  it.  She  was  rapidly  becoming  trans- 
formed before  the  visitor's  eyes.  The  bonnet  was  untied, 
the  shawl  unpinned,  and  a  small  person  in  a  pink  gingham 
frock  was  just  appearing,  when  the  murmur  of  voices  be- 
low swelled  out  suddenly,  a  door  was  opened,  there  was  a 
swiftly  increasing  rustle  of  skirts,  and  the  Ladies'  Aid  was 
coming  up  the  stairs ! 


MEETS  A  NEW  FRIEND  35 

Instantly  the  stately  old  lady  became  a  terrified  dancing 
Dervish. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!  If  Lennie's  mother, — if  Susie's  mother, — 
if  Nellie's  mother  sees  me !"  She  was  tearing  madly  at  her 
hampering  garments.  Her  new  acquaintance  came  nobly  to 
her  aid. 

"Run  back  to  the  room  and  take  them  off,"  he  whispered, 
"and  I'll  go  down  and  keep  them  talking  till  you're  ready." 

The  old  lady  went  leaping  away  along  the  hall,  and  the 
young  man  went  slowly  down  the  stairs,  with  something  of 
the  feeling  of  a  small  rear  guard  turning  back  from  the 
retreat  to  charge  the  whole  enemy's  advancing  host. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  holding  the  Ladies'  Aid.  Here 
was  the  new  minister.  He  was  tall,  and  very  young,  and 
very  good-looking.  They  all  crowded  around  him  while 
Mrs.  Meldrum  presented  him  proudly.  It  was  quite  the 
worst  predicament  that  the  young  man  had  ever  found 
himself  in.  Many  of  the  Ladies'  Aid  were  young  ladies, 
too,  which  added  not  a  little  to  his  misery.  He  wished 
he  had  left  the  little  imp  to  her  fate  upstairs. 

He  was  so  successful  in  holding  back  the  flood,  that  a 
small  figure  in  pink  gingham  appeared  at  the  head  of  the 
stair  before  they  were  through  with  him.  When  he  saw 
her  at  his  side,  flushed  and  star-eyed  with  the  excitement  of 
her  escapade,  he  felt  rewarded. 

"Do  you  think  I  ought  to  tell  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  that  I 
wore  her  bonnet?"  she  whispered,  as  her  mother  at  last 
went  up  with  Mrs.  Caldwell,  who  was  always  the  most 
voluble  and  lingering  guest. 

"No,  oh  no,"  he  cried,  quite  forgetting  the  ethics  of  the 
case,  in  the  fear  that  he  would  be  involved.  "I  don't  think 
you  need  to  at  all." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  shining  eyes.  "Oh,  Mr.  Bal- 
four,"  she  cried  ecstatically.  "I  think  you're  going  to  be 
an  awfully  nice  minister.  I  hope  you  won't  run  away,  will 
you?" 

"Run  away?"  he  asked  puzzled. 

"Yes,  Kirsty  said  we'd  have  an  awful  time  when  Daddy 


36  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

went  away,  because  all  the  young  lassies  would  be  running 
after  you." 

Before  the  newcomer  could  reply  to  this  astonishing  state- 
ment, Mr.  Meldrum  came  in  from  putting  away  his  car; 
and  Janet  forgot  everything  in  the  rapture  of  his  return. 
She  flung  herself  upon  him,  clasping  him  round  the  knees, 
so  that  he  stood  laughing  and  helpless. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  up  at  him 
with  adoring  eyes.  "You're  the  loveliest  Daddy  in  the  whole 
world,  and  I  love  you — oh,  I  love  every  bit  of  you — I  love 
even  the  buttons  on  your  coat !" 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  WATER  BABY 

FOR  several  years  the  minister  of  Cherry  Hill  had  been 
failing  in  health.  In  his  youth  and  early  manhood  he 
had  done  strenuous  pioneer  work  in  the  West,  and  coming 
back  to  Ontario,  when  his  youthful  vigour  began  to  fail,  he 
had  married  and  settled  in  Knox  Church.  But  his  health 
had  been  spent  in  the  strain  of  his  earlier  days,  and  after 
a  dozen  years  in  the  little  Ontario  village,  he  had  received 
an  imperative  order  from  his  physician  to  take  at  least  a 
year's  rest.  His  one  brother,  who  lived  in  California,  had 
sent  for  him,  and  all  were  in  hopes  that  the  winter  in  the 
warm  climate  might  restore  his  health.  He  had  secured 
the  son  of  his  oldest  and  dearest  friend  to  fill  his  pulpit,  and 
his  wife  and  little  daughter  were  to  remain  in  the  old  home 
until  he  returned. 

The  separation,  which  was  inevitable  in  the  face  of  the 
expense,  was  a  great  trial  to  all  three;  but  as  yet  little 
Janet  was  not  greatly  disturbed  by  it.  It  was  in  the  future, 
and  she  did  not  trouble  much  over  anything  beyond  the 
present  moment.  For  a  time  her  thoughts  were  occupied 
with  the  new  member  of  the  family. 

"Don't  you  think  Mr.  Balfour  is  ever,  ever,  so  nice, 
Mother?"  she  asked  for  the  tenth  time  the  next  morning, 
as  she  helped  her  mother  with  the  light  household  duties 
that  were  permitted  in  the  Manse  on  the  Sabbath. 

Mrs.  Meldrum's  mind  was  on  the  lesson  which  she  taught 
the  Bible  Class  and  her  answer  was  vague. 

"Yes,  dear,  I'm  sure  he  is.  His  mother  is  a  very  lovely 
lady." 

"And  he  sings  lovely,  doesn't  he?  I  heard  him  sing  that 

37 


38  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

hymn  this  morning  in  his  bedroom,  the  hymn  about — you 
know: 

'My  God,  I  thank  Thee,  who  hast  made 
This  earth  so  bright.'" 

Janet  sang  it  at  the  top  of  her  fresh,  young  voice. 

"Hush,  hush,  Janet  dear,"  said  her  mother,  carefully  ar- 
ranging a  bunch  of  feathery  cosmos  on  the  dining-room 
table.  "You'll  disturb  Mr.  Balfour  at  his  sermon." 

Janet  pondered  for  a  moment.  She  was  always  being 
warned  about  her  singing.  It  reminded  her  of  the  hap- 
penings of  yesterday. 

"Mother,  do  I  sing  different  from  other  girls?  Nellie 
says  that  I  put  her  off  the  tune;  and  Rosie  Kelly  said  I 
was  singing  alto  yesterday.  Miss  Lena  wants  me  to  stand 
back  beside  Nellie,  but  Miss  Mitchell  wants  me  to  be  in  a 
dialogue  and  not  in  the  choir  at  all." 

Mrs.  Meldum  was  giving  Janet  her  undivided  attention 
now.  She  had  been  rather  a  good  singer  in  her  younger 
days,  and  her  little  daughter's  lack  of  musical  ability  was  a 
sore  trial  to  her. 

"Did  Miss  Lena  say  she  would  rather  you  did  not  sing  in 
the  choir?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"Oh,  no !  She  wants  me  to  be  in  it,  but  I  don't  want  to 
put  Nellie  off  the  tune.  How  do  you  put  people  off  the 
tune?  Nobody  ever  put  me  off." 

"Well,  dear,  you  know  your  ear  is  not  very  true,  I  have 
often  told  you  that.  But  I  am  hoping  it  will  develop  later." 

Janet  took  hold  of  one  of  her  shell  pink  ears,  and  stand- 
ing on  tip-toe,  tried  to  get  a  peep  at  it  in  the  mirror  above 
the  sideboard.  Then  she  looked  at  her  mother  closely.  "My 
ears  are  just  like  yours,  Mother,  and  you're  a  lovely  singer. 
Besides,  I  don't  sing  with  my  ears  anyway.  It's  my  throat, 
and  I'm  going  to  be  a  great  singer  some  day,  am  I  not  ?" 

"Your  voice  will  be  true  some  day,  I'm  sure,"  said  her 
mother  evasively.  "Don't  cram  the  flowers  in  so  tightly, 
Janet.  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  if  you  left  the  choir  and 
were  in  a  dialogue  instead,  would  you?" 

But  Janet  wanted  to  be  in  the  choir  more  than  anything 


THE  WATER  BABY  39 

else  in  the  world.  And  the  deepest  reason  was  one  she 
could  not  express  to  her  mother.  Daddy  might  understand, 
but  she  could  scarcely  tell  even  him.  She  did  not  mind  so 
much  not  singing  "We  are  scholars  in  the  Sabbath  School," 
nor  "Good-night,  God  bless  you!"  though  she  considered 
them  very  lovely  songs,  indeed.  But  the  other  numbers 
were  hymns  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  to  the  dear  Father 
in  Heaven  for  the  bountiful  harvest  He  had  given.  And 
Janet  could  not  bear  to  sit  silent  while  all  the  other  boys 
and  girls  hymned  His  praise;  just  as  though  she  did  not 
care,  and  did  not  thank  Him  for  all  His  goodness.  But  it 
was  very  hard  to  put  all  this  into  words. 

"Oh,  I'd  rather  be  in  the  choir  than  in  every  one  of 
the  dialogues,  Mother!"  she  declared,  and  her  mother,  who 
always  put  off  the  evil  day  when  she  must  tell  Janet  that 
she  could  not  sing,  changed  the  subject. 

"Run  away  now,  darling,  and  change  your  dress.  It's 
time  you  were  sitting  down  to  your  Sunday  School  lesson ; 
and  don't  make  a  noise  running  past  the  study,  for  Daddy 
and  Mr.  Balfour  are  both  there." 

"Oh,  Mother,  can't  I,  please,  wear  this  dress  instead  of 
my  white  one?  I  always  feel  so — so  tidy  in  my  white 
dress!" 

"Janet,  you  are  the  strangest  child.  Don't  you  like  that 
lovely  lace  dress  Aunt  Flora  gave  you?" 

"Oh,  I  like  it  all  right,  Mother,  when  it's  hanging  in  the 
closet.  It's  lovely  then,  but  I  have  to  take  care  of  it  so 
hard  that  I  get  stiff  all  inside  me  whenever  I  have  it  on." 

"Dear  me,"  complained  her  mother.  "When  I  was  a 
little  girl  like  you  I  was  never  so  happy  as  when  I  was 
dressed  up  in  a  pretty  white  frock.  I  really  don't  under- 
stand you,  Janet." 

Janet  hung  her  head  dejectedly.  This  white  lace-frilled 
dress,  that  was  so  hard  to  launder,  and  that  demanded  such 
care,  was  a  veritable  hair  shirt  to  the  lively  little  girl.  She 
regarded  clothes  as  a  troublesome  but  necessary  covering. 
But  why  they  should  be  made  so  that  they  had  to  be  guarded 


40  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  cared  for  and  watched,  the  way  you  had  to  watch 
Bud's  baby-brother,  was  beyond  her  comprehension. 

"This  dress  is  so  much  more  comfortabler,"  she  sighed, 
looking  down  at  her  clean  but  faded  blue  morning  gingham. 
"I  always  feel  nice  inside  me,  when  I've  got  it  on  outside." 

"You  absurd  child !"  her  mother  laughed.  "Why,  there's 
a  button  off  that  dress  at  the  back." 

"It  feels  all  right,"  said  Janet,  wriggling  round  enquir- 
ingly in  the  loose  frock.  "I  think  it  feels  better  with  that 
button  off." 

"What  will  Mr.  Balfour  think  of  you  if  he  sees  you 
in  that  old  dress  with  a  button  off?"  said  her  mother,  trying 
to  appeal  to  Janet's  regard  for  the  new  member  of  the 
family. 

"But  he's  seen  me  in  this  dress  already,  and  he'll  notice 
me  far  more  if  I  put  on  another." 

Janet  had  a  remarkable  taste  for  argument  which  her 
mother's  uncertain  control  tended  to  foster.  Her  father 
was  wont  to  say  that  it  was  the  sweet  reasonableness  of 
Janet's  nature  that  made  her  see  both  sides  of  a  question, 
and  prompted  her  to  take  the  other  side  and  argue  the 
matter.  But  her  mother  was  of  the  opinion  quite  to  the 
contrary. 

"But  with  a  button  off  it,"  her  mother  continued,  "I 
should  think  you'd  be  ashamed." 

"He  won't  see  the  button — I  mean  the  place  where  the 
button  ought  to  be,"  said  Janet  comfortably.  "I'll  be  sit- 
ting with  my  front  to  him  and  to  everybody  in  Sunday 
School." 

Her  mother  laughed  again.  Janet  was  such  a  queer  little 
thing,  she  never  quite  took  her  seriously. 

"You'll  be  likely  to  sit  still  very  long!  You'll  be  run- 
ning to  and  fro  and  the  whole  congregation  will  see  that 
empty  button-hole." 

Janet  considered  a  while.  She  knew  her  weakness  and 
had  to  confess  that  she  would  be  quite  likely  to  do  a  great 
deal  of  running  before  the  day  was  over,  though  she  always 
strove  to  keep  quieter  on  Sundays,  believing,  with  Kirsty, 


THE  WATER  BABY  41 

that  it  was  a  great  sin  to  be  "cuttin*  capers  on  the  Lord's 
Day." 

"Well,"  she  cried,  suddenly  brightening  with  an  inspira- 
tion, "I'll  remember  to  run  just  to  and  not  fro  and  then 
nobody'll  see.  Kirsty  always  says  that  I  run  round  like  a 
dog  at  a  fair,  Mother.  What  does  she  mean?  How  does 
a  dog  run  at  a  fair  ?" 

Her  mother  laughed  again,  and  this  time  Janet  laughed 
with  her,  very  joyously,  for  when  Mother  laughed  at  the 
end  of  an  argument  it  generally  meant  victory. 

"I  can  go  like  this,  can't  I,  Mother  dear?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

But  this  time  the  laugh  was  a  disappointment.  The  blue 
gingham  was  impossible;  and  her  mother  finally  took  the 
long  delayed  stand. 

"Now,  Janet,  just  stop  this  nonsensical  talk  about  that 
dress,"  she  declared  firmly.  "You  can't  wear  it  to  church 
and  Sunday  School,  and  that's  all  about  it.  Why,  your  self- 
respect  should  demand  that  you  must  not  wear  a  dress  with 
a  button  off.  It  does  not  matter  at  all  who  does  or  does 
not  see  you,  when  you  know  yourself  that  your  dress  is 
not  mended.  Go  at  once  and  put  on  your  white  dress,  and 
be  a  good  little  girl." 

Janet  went  slowly  and  heavily  up  the  stairs.  From  a 
light,  dancing,  airy  creature  in  a  frisking,  blue  gingham,  she 
was  suddenly  transformed  into  a  leaden-footed  old  woman 
with  the  prospect  of  a  long  day's  imprisonment  in  a  straight 
jacket  of  a  white  dress  that  demanded  all  one's  thought 
and  care  to  keep  it  in  order.  She  dressed  very  slowly 
and  solemnly.  She  drew  on  her  white  stockings  and  slip- 
pers as  a  prisoner  might  put  his  feet  into  the  stocks,  dragged 
on  the  white  lacy  dress  over  her  head,  and  plodded  wearily 
to  her  mother's  room  to  be  buttoned  up  the  back. 

"Now,  that's  the  girlie,"  cried  her  mother.  "Here  are 
your  sash  and  hair  ribbons.  Aren't  they  a  pretty  blue?" 

These  ribbons,  which  Aunt  Flora  had  also  inflicted 
upon  Janet,  were  but  so  many  more  shackles,  and  she 
submitted  to  them  with  a  weary  sigh. 


42  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

When  the  sash  was  adjusted  in  a  big  blue  bow  behind, 
and  another  butterfly  bow  was  stuck  upon  the  top  of  the 
riotous  brown  waves  of  her  hair,  and  still  another  at  the 
end  of  the  long  heavy  braid,  Janet  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
draw  a  full  breath.  She  had  no  faintest  notion  that  the 
ribbons  made  her  deep  grey  eyes  look  blue  behind  their 
long  shadowy  lashes,  or  that  she  was  a  veritable  fairy  in 
her  little  lace  skirts  that  stuck  out  around  her.  But  her 
mother  saw  and  kissed  her  happily.  Mrs.  Meldrum  had 
great  unspoken  ambitions  for  Janet. 

"That's  Mother's  darling,"  she  said.  "See  how  much 
better  you  look.  Now  get  a  clean  handkerchief — are  your 
nails  nice? — and  go  downstairs  and  sit  on  the  veranda  and 
learn  your  verses  and  catechism,  until  it's  time  for  Sunday 
School.  And  don't  run  or  play  with  Pepper,  or  nurse  the 
cat.  And  be  nice  and  quiet  so  you  won't  disturb  Mr.  Bal- 
four." 

Janet  went  down  the  stairs  with  the  same  aged  and 
heavy  tread.  Pepper,  who  was  sleeping  in  the  sunlight  on 
the  veranda,  leaped  up  and  came  towards  her  with  a  plain 
invitation  for  a  romp.  For  Pepper  was  a  very  gay  and 
irresponsible  doggie,  and  took  no  thought  of  either  clothes 
or  the  Sabbath. 

Janet  shook  her  head  mournfully.  "No,  Peppy  dear," 
she  said  sadly,  "it's  Sunday,  and  I've  got  on  my  best  dress, 
and  you  must  be  a  good  dog  and  keep  away  from  me." 

The  little  dog  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  his  head  on 
one  side  to  see  if  she  really  meant  it.  He  backed  up  in  an 
alluring  slide  and  frisked  to  one  side,  then  the  other,  with 
a  sharp  inviting  bark.  But  as  she  made  no  response,  he 
flopped  heavily  upon  the  veranda  floor  and  sat  watching  her, 
ready  the  moment  this  strange  mood  should  pass. 

Janet  arranged  herself  very  carefully  on  a  veranda  stool, 
spreading  her  skirts  out  all  around  her  lest  they  become 
crushed.  She  spread  her  white  handkerchief  upon  her 
short  lace  lap,  and  laid  her  little  Sunday  School  quarterly 
open  upon  it.  She  stretched  out  her  white-shod  feet  in 


THE  WATER  BABY  43 

front  of  her,  and  sat  up  straight  and  stiff,  taking  care  of 
the  white  dress  with  all  her  might  and  main. 

She  had  sat  thus  in  misery  for  what  seemed  hours  and 
hours,  when  a  blessed  diversion  occurred.  The  wire  door 
swung  open,  and  the  kind  rescuer  of  yesterday  stepped  out. 
Hugh  Balfour  was  very  happy  this  morning.  He  liked  his 
mother's  old  friends,  he  welcomed  the  thought  of  the  work 
ahead  of  him,  he  enjoyed  the  freedom  from  the  city,  and 
he  revelled  in  the  glorious  view  of  farm  and  woodland, 
orchard  and  river,  golden  hill  and  green  valley  that  spread 
out  before  him. 

To  live  on  Cherry  Hill  was  a  liberal  education;  just  to 
look  outdoors  made  you  feel  as  though  the  whole  Province 
of  Ontario  was  spread  out  at  your  feet.  The  country  fell 
away  from  the  height  upon  which  the  village  was  set,  a 
lovely  pageant  of  hill  and  dale,  winding  white  road  and 
winding  blue  river,  golden  field  and  green  forest. 

The  newcomer  stood  motionless  at  the  door  gazing  with 
delight  over  the  lovely  scene.  He  softly  hummed  the  hymn 
with  which  he  had  started  the  morning: 

"My  God,  I  thank  Thee,  who  hast  made 

This  earth  so  bright, 
So  full  of  splendour  and  of  joy, 

Beauty  and  light, 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here, 

Noble  and  right." 

And  then  he  turned  and  saw  the  small  blue-and-white  fairy 
sitting  on  the  penitential  stool. 

"Oh,  here  you  are!"  he  cried,  delighted.  "And  how  are 
you,  again,  this  lovely  bright  morning?" 

Janet  Meldrum  always  spoke  out  the  exact  truth,  and 
took  no  heed  of  polite  conventional  phrases. 

"I'm  very  uncomfortable,  thank  you,  Mr.  Balfour,"  she 
answered  soberly. 

Mr.  Balfour  sat  down  in  the  hammock  opposite,  care- 
fully lifting  the  tails  of  his  long  black  coat.  He  was  one 
of  those  rare,  wise  persons  who  do  not  treat  a  little  girl 


44  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

as  if  she  were  a  funny  toy,  but  a  human  being  with  human 
problems. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  he  said  seriously.  "What  is 
the  trouble?  Do  you  mind  telling  me?" 

Janet  did  not  mind  in  the  least.  One  of  the  chief  trials 
of  life  was  to  keep  from  telling  things. 

"It's  my  dress,"  she  announced  with  a  great  windy  sigh. 

"Your  dress?"  Hugh  Balfour  had  a  vague  notion  that, 
if  a  dress  troubled  a  little  girl,  it  was  probably  not  fine 
enough,  nor  the  proper  colour. 

"Why,  I  think  it's  a  very  pretty  dress,  indeed,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know ;  it's  lovely,"  agreed  Janet.  "But  that's 
just  what's  the  matter.  It's  so  nice  I  can't  breathe  in  it,  for 
fear  I'll  spoil  it.  You  see,  it's  a  very  special  dress,  because 
Auntie  Flora  Bowman  sent  it  to  me,  and  it's  a  very,  very 
expensive  dress ;  and  Kirsty  says  she'd  rather  fake  a  thrash- 
ing than  iron  it.  And  when  I  wear  it  I  can't  do  anything 
for  fear  I'll  get  a  spot  on  it." 

"That  is  rather  too  bad,"  he  said  without  the  smallest 
sign  of  amusement.  "I  have  to  take  care  of  this  coat,  and 
I  know  what  a  trouble  it  is." 

"Oh !"  she  broke  out  in  sudden  sympathy.  "And  do  the 
buttons  come  off,  too?" 

"Indeed  they  do.    And  I  have  to  sew  them  on  myself." 

"Oh,  my!  That's  too  bad!  But  you've  got  a  mother 
to  sew  them  on  for  you,  haven't  you  ?"  she  asked  gently. 

"Yes,  but  my  mother  is  not  with  me  when  I'm  at  college, 
so  she  can't  attend  to  my  clothes,  you  see." 

"And  have  you  some  brothers  and  sisters?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  indeed ;  three  brothers  and  two  sisters,  so  I'm  pretty 
well  off  after  all,  am  I  not  ?  But  I  haven't  a  nice  little  sister 
at  home.  Mine  are  grown  up." 

"It  must  be  nice  to  have  a  family.  I  haven't  any,  only 
Leola." 

"Who's  Leola?" 

"She's  my  twin-sister,  only  I  don't  have  her  on  Sundays, 
she's  just  for  play-days." 


THE  WATER  BABY  45 

Mr.  Balfour  looked  puzzled.  "Is  Leola  a  dolly?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  no.  She's  a  big  girl,  and  she's  just  my  age,  'cause 
we're  twins."  She  looked  at  him  half-shyly  from  under 
her  long  lashes.  Now  that  Janet  had  passed  her  tenth 
birthday,  she  was  beginning  to  be  just  a  little  self-conscious 
regarding  Leola.  Nellie  Gillespie  had  said  it  was  very  silly 
to  pretend  when  you  were  a  great  big  girl  going  on  eleven. 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  "Leola  is  only  a  pretend  sister. 
But  I  didn't  have  any  other  kind,  and  I  thought  a  pretend 
one  was  better  than  none  at  all,  don't  you  ?" 

Mr.  Balfour  agreed  with  her  quite  heartily.  "But  I'd 
rather  have  a  brother  than  anything,"  went  on  Janet.  "I 
don't  mean  a  pretend  brother,  but  a  real  one  that  can  climb 
trees  and  holler  like  Bud  Kelly.  I've  only  got  Blackie,  my 
cat,  and  Pepper,  but  of  course  he's  a  lovely  dog,  don't  you 
think  so?  Have  you  got  a  dog  at  home,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"Yes,  a  nice,  big,  shaggy,  old  fellow,  and  his  name  is 
Towser." 

"What  a  nice  name !    And  have  you  got  a  grandma,  too  ?" 

"Yes,  my  grandmother  is  a  dear  old  lady,  a  real  story- 
book Grandma,  with  white  hair  and  lavender  ribbons  in 
her  cap." 

"Oh,  what  lots  and  lots  of  lovely  things  you  have !  And 
have  you  got  a  sweetheart?" 

The  catechised  one  was  plainly  a  little  disconcerted.  "A 
what?"  he  asked  in  some  confusion. 

"A  sweetheart,"  repeated  Janet.  "I  mean  a  young  lady 
that  you're  going  to  get  married  to,"  she  explained  kindly. 
"Miss  Sinclair,  she's  my  Sunday  School  teacher,  and  Miss 
Mitchell,  she's  my  day-school  teacher,  and  all  the  other 
young  ladies  at  the  church  were  talking  about  you  one 
day  last  week;  and  they  were  wondering  if  you  were  going 
to  be  married.  But  perhaps,"  she  added  politely,  "you'd 
rather  not  tell.  Nellie  Gillespie  says  she's  sure  her  sister 
Marjorie  is  going  to  be  married,  but  she  won't  tell  one  of 
them." 

The  visitor  was  laughing  now.    "Why,  I'm  sure  I'd  be 


46  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

glad  to  tell,  if  I  had  any  such  nice  secret.  But  I  haven't 
a  sweetheart  at  all,  unless  you'll  be  mine,"  he  added. 

Janet  considered  this  gravely.  "I'd  like  to,  ever  so 
much,"  she  said  at  last,  "but  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  an 
engagement  ring,  I'd  be  worried  all  the  time  for  fear  I'd 
lose  it  and  Kirsty  would  scold  me.  But  I  guess  I  couldn't 
anyway,"  she  added  with  a  sigh  of  renunciation.  "I'm  sure 
Mother  wouldn't  let  me.  She  said  I  must  stay  away  from 
you  and  not  talk  to  you,  nor  ask  any  questions."  She 
stopped  with  a  gasp  of  dismay.  "Oh,  I  forgot  that  I  wasn't 
to  ask  you  questions !  I  didn't  ask  you  so  very,  very  many, 
did  I?" 

"Not  many,"  he  answered  with  more  generosity  than 
truth. 

"Perhaps,"  she  cried,  brightening  suddenly.  "Perhaps 
Miss  Lena  would  be  your  sweetheart.  She's  the  dearest, 
loveliest  lady  in  the  world.  Would  you  like  me  to  ask 
her?" 

"I  don't  believe  you'd  better,"  he  said  in  some  haste. 
"I'm  quite  sure  the  lady  wouldn't  like  the  idea.  If  you 
won't  be  my  sweetheart  I'll  just  have  to  do  without." 

"I  wish,"  she  started  and  then  stopped. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you  another  question,"  she  answered, 
"but  I  know  I  shouldn't." 

"I  don't  think  one  more  would  do  any  harm,"  he  said 
encouragingly. 

"Oh !"  she  looked  at  him  her  eyes  dazzling  in  their  eager- 
ness. "I'd  just  love  to  know  what  your  whole  name  is !" 

"Now,  that's  easy.  My  name's  Hugh  Hamilton  Balfour, 
and  I  was  called  for  Grandfather  Hamilton.  I  don't  believe 
I  know  your  whole  name,  do  I  ?" 

"My  name's  Janet  Matilda  Leola  Meldrum;  Janet  is 
Grandma  Meldrum's  name,  and  Matilda  is  Grandma 
Eraser's  name,  and  Leola  is  just  a  name  that  Mother  liked. 
Mother  wanted  to  call  me  Leola,  but  Father  said  it  sounded 
rather  foolish  to  go  with  a  plain  Scotch  name  like  Meldrum. 
I'm  glad  they  didn't  call  me  that,  because  I'd  never  know 


THE  WATER  BABY  47 

who  Mother  wanted  if  she  called  Leola,  because  that's  the 
name  of  my  twin-sister.  Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  would  you  mind 
telling  me  something  more  about  your  family,  please,  so 
I  won't  have  to  ask  you  questions  ?  Will  you  ?" 

So  he  told  her  about  his  old  home  far  away  down  in  Nova 
Scotia,  where  they  call  the  people  Bluenoses.  This  word 
provoked  a  storm  of  questions,  and  when  they  were  an- 
swered to  her  satisfaction  he  told  her  of  his  brothers  and 
sisters  and  of  the  wonderful  stretch  of  seashore  where 
they  used  to  play.  Janet  listened  absorbed.  She  was  so 
interested  that  she  quite  forgot  the  misery  of  the  white  dress, 
and  was  already  twisting  a  corner  of  her  sash  end  in  her 
eagerness.  But  right  in  the  midst  of  a  fascinating  story  of 
how  the  tide  chased  them  all  home  one  day,  the  wire  door 
swung  open  again  and  her  father  came  slowly  out. 

Much  hard  work  and  ill  health  had  stooped  John  Mel- 
drum's  thin  frame  and  whitened  his  hair,  but  no  amount  of 
life's  hardships  could  take  the  twinkle  from  his  eye  and 
the  youthful  brightness  from  his  kind  smile.  His  eyes 
danced  as  they  rested  on  his  little  daughter. 

"Now,  Janet,  Janet,"  he  said,  his  thin  hand  caressing  the 
little  brown  curly  head,  "I  hope  you  haven't  been  asking 
Mr.  Balfour  too  many  questions.  Come  away,  Hugh,  and 
I'll  show  you  over  the  church  before  Sunday  School." 

Janet  watched  them  wistfully,  as  they  walked  across  the 
lawn  to  the  little  gate  that  led  into  the  church  grounds. 
She  had  forgotten  all  about  her  dress  in  the  fascinations  of 
the  new  minister's  company,  but  now  its  discomfort  re- 
turned. She  gave  a  loud  groan  as  she  took  up  her  little 
Sunday  School  quarterly  and  began  numbling  over  her 
verses.  Janet  learned  all  her  lessons  with  lightning  rapidity, 
and  in  a  very  few  minutes  she  had  memorized  her  two 
questions  in  the  Catechism,  her  Golden  Text  and  her  three 
verses,  and  was  looking  around  for  something  to  do  that 
would  lighten  the  heavy  hours  and  yet  not  be  disastrous 
to  her  perishable  neatness. 

Just  then,  from  the  lilac  bush  at  the  end  of  the  veranda 
came  a  little  song.  Under  Bud  Kelly's  tuition  Janet  had 


48  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

studied  the  language  of  the  birds,  and  she  had  no  difficulty 
in  translating  this  one's  delightful  trill : 

"Chee-chee-chee-chee-chee,  Chip ! 
Watch  Out ! 
Keep  the  Day!" 

He  was  warning  her,  just  as  surely  as  Kirsty  had,  to  be 
careful  not  to  break  the  Sabbath.  Janet  rose  softly  and 
tip-toed  to  the  end  of  the  veranda  to  get  a  closer  view  of 
the  little  singer. 

And  then  she  heard  a  sound  that  made  her  leap  to  the 
railing.  It  was  a  loud,  grievous,  "Pee-eepf  Pee-eep!"  rising 
in  anguished  crescendo  from  the  street,  and  a  little  yellow 
duckling  went  waddling  past  the  gate,  his  yellow  bill  raised 
in  loud  lamentations  over  his  lost  and  forlorn  condition; 
his  short  legs  and  his  wide  feet  making  but  poor  progress 
through  the  long  dusty  grass  of  the  road  side. 

"Oh,  oh,  Tommy !  Tommy  Kelly !"  cried  Janet  in  a  burst 
of  pity. 

Tommy  Duck  was  as  much  a  member  of  the  Kelly  family 
as  Bud  or  baby  Cornelius.  He  was  a  lone  duckling  which, 
in  true  Kelly  fashion,  had  somehow  got  mishatched  into  a 
family  of  chickens.  His  poor  little  life  was  one  long  conflict 
between  his  love  for  his  family  and  his  passion  for  water. 
Tom  was  always  running  down  to  the  creek  behind  the 
house  in  obedience  to  some  inner  compulsion;  and  when 
he  had  had  a  lovely  swim  was  always  finding  himself 
orphaned,  with  his  mother  leading  the  rest  of  the  family 
far  afield  on  a  grasshopper  hunt. 

Janet  and  Bud  had  named  each  member  of  the  family, 
and  she  had  called  the  little  duckling  Tom,  after  the  hero 
of  "The  Water  Babies."  Janet  was  sure  he  was  a  real 
Water  Baby  in  disguise,  and  it  seemed  too  bad  that  he  should 
have  nothing  better  for  his  companions  than  long-legged 
chickens,  who  went  on  swift  excursions  through  the  grass 
and  would  die  if  they  went  near  the  creek. 

Nevertheless  Tom  loved  his  uncongenial  family,  and  was 
in  misery  without  them,  and  here  he  was  lost  as  usual,  call- 
ing and  crying,  and  waddling  along  as  fast  as  his  short 


THE  WATER  BABY  49 

legs  would  carry  him.  Janet  forgot  all  about  the  white 
dress  and  blue  silk  sash. 

"Oh,  Tom!  Poor  Tommy!  Come  to  Janet!  Duckie, 
Duckie!"  she  called. 

Tom  heard  the  familiar  voice  and  answered  with  a  little 
comforted  quack,  quack.  He  stopped  at  the  gate  for  a 
moment;  then,  thinking  he  heard  his  mother  call,  he  sud- 
denly turned  and  darted  out  into  the  dusty  road,  his  neck 
out-thrust,  his  tiny  imitation  wings  held  aloft. 

And  he  ran  right  into  a  terrible  danger.  Just  across  the 
village  street  from  the  Manse  was  the  Caldwell  home,  be- 
hind a  glowing  hedge  of  dahlias.  The  Caldwells  were  very 
proud  of  their  garden  and  very  careful  of  it.  And  above 
all  other  pests  they  feared  the  collection  of  chickens,  rabbits, 
dogs  and  children  which  was  liable  to  overflow  the  bounds 
of  the  Kelly  yard  at  any  moment  and  destroy  everything 
beautiful  in  the  neighborhood.  Consequently  the  Caldwell 
dog  was  so  well  trained  that  if  he  so  much  as  heard  a 
Kelly  rooster  crow,  he  bristled  and  growled.  And  if  one 
of  the  Kelly  fowl  but  put  his  profaning  claw  on  the  well- 
trimmed  Caldwell  boulevard,  he  was  ready  for  the  Kelly 
pot  that  moment.  Bugler  was  lying  on  the  veranda,  at  this 
minute  pretending  to  sleep,  his  wise  old  nose  between  his 
paws.  He  opened  one  wicked  eye  at  the  sound  of  poor 
little  Tom's  wail,  and  spied  the  little  duckling  coming 
straight  for  his  sacred  gate.  Bugler  came  off  the  veranda 
in  one  bound,  with  a  roar  that  fairly  shook  the  calm  of 
the  Sabbath  air.  Tommy  Duck  heard,  and  with  a  squawk 
of  terror  he  turned  and  fled  back  across  the  street  towards 
Janet's  gate.  There  seemed  no  hope  for  him,  for  Bugler 
was  right  at  his  flat  yellow  heels.  But  Janet  was  coming 
across  her  lawn  in  leaps  that  matched  Bugler's,  Pepper 
bounding  by  her  side.  Her  garden  was  much  smaller  than 
the  wide  Caldwell  lawn  and  Tom  was  coming  towards 
her ;  so  they  won  in  the  race.  Fortunately  the  big  dog  was 
one  of  Janet's  intimate  friends;  and  he  stopped  suddenly 
at  her  screamed  command.  Janet  caught  up  the  terrified 
duckling  in  her  arms.  He  had  just  come  out  of  the  Kelly 


50  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

water  trough,  and  had  trailed  up  and  down  in  the  dust  of 
the  village  street,  but  she  hugged  him  close  to  her  white 
lace  and  blue  silk,  and  poured  forth  a  stream  of  pitying 
and  endearing  words,  mingled  with  scoldings  addressed 
sternly  to  Bugler  for  his  inhospitable  conduct.  Bugler 
seemed  quite  ashamed  of  himself,  for  he  stood  with  his  tail 
hanging  and  looked  quite  abashed,  while  Pepper  danced 
about  and  said  quite  plainly  in  dog-language,  "Ah,  ha,  I  told 
you  so." 

And  the  next  moment  there  was  a  rush  of  bare  feet,  a 
cloud  of  dust,  and  Bud  Kelly,  in  an  un-Sabbath-like  cos- 
tume of  a  faded  shirt  and  a  pair  of  very  ragged  trousers, 
held  up  by  one  frail  strap,  came  storming  upon  the  scene. 

"Oh,  Jenny !"  he  shouted.  "Oh,  say !  You're  the  dan- 
diest !"  His  thin  bare  legs  went  up  in  the  air,  his  red  head 
went  down  in  the  dust  and  he  pranced  about  on  his  hands 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  express  his  admiration. 

"Say,  Jenny,"  he  cried,  bringing  himself  back  with  a  jerk 
to  the  commonly  accepted  position  of  human  beings — "Say ! 
You — you'd  ought  to  'a'  been  a  boy !" 

Janet  fairly  glowed  with  pride.  To  be  praised  by  Bud 
was  better  even  than  being  a  great  singer,  and  receiving  the 
applause  of  thousands.  And  then  she  came  down  from  the 
rosy  heights  and  landed  in  the  dust ;  for  her  mother's  voice 
in  pained  astonishment  came  from  the  veranda. 

"Janet,  child !    What  can  you  be  doing  ?" 

Janet  hurriedly  shoved  Tommy  into  Bud's  hands  and 
looked  at  her  dress.  The  Water  Baby  had  left  the  pattern 
of  his  wide  feet  all  over  the  front  and  it  was  smeared  with 
mud  from  lace  collar  to  lace  hem.  She  turned  and  came 
slowly  up  the  walk,  looking  like  a  bad  charcoal  sketch  of 
the  blue  and  white  fairy  that  had  sat  on  the  veranda  but  a 
few  minutes  before.  At  the  same  moment  her  father  and 
their  guest  came  through  the  little  gate  from  the  church 
and  crossed  the  lawn  to  meet  her. 

Mrs.  Meldrum  was  a  wise  woman  in  many  ways,  and 
was  generally  calm  in  the  face  of  catastrophe.  Ten  years 
of  moving  accident  by  dirt  and  water,  commencing  the  day 


THE  WATER  BABY  51 

Janet  had  begun  to  creep,  had  inured  her  to  disaster.  So 
she  took  the  bedraggled  little  wreck  upstairs  without  a  word. 
They  were  all  ready  to  start  for  Sunday  School  when  Janet 
appeared  again,  dressed  in  a  dark  blue  cotton  frock.  She 
tried  hard  not  to  show  her  pleasure  in  the  new  costume, 
for  she  was  genuinely  sorry  over  the  work  she  had  given 
poor  Kirsty.  Her  mother  looked  flushed  and  worried.  She 
liked  to  have  Janet  well  dressed,  especially  on  Sundays  with 
the  whole  congregation  to  look  at  her,  but  her  father  was 
at  some  pains  to  keep  the  twinkle  out  of  his  eyes. 

"It  was  a  gallant  rescue,  all  the  same,"  he  declared.  And 
Janet  caught  his  hand  in  both  hers  and  hugged  it  close  to  her 
heart.  She  was  very  humble  as  she  walked  by  the  new 
minister's  side  to  Sunday  School.  "I'm  so  sorry  for  poor 
Mother,"  she  said.  "I'm  such  a  bother  to  her  and  Kirsty. 
Children  are  a  great  care,  Mr.  Balf  our,"  she  added  solemnly. 
"When  you  get  married  you'd  better  not  have  any.  I  guess 
I  got  all  over  mud  to-day  because  I  wore  Mrs.  Gibbie's 
bonnet  yesterday.  Do  you  think  I  did?" 

There  was  no  time  to  discuss  the  possible  connection  be- 
tween her  mischievous  conduct  of  the  day  before  and  the 
present  disaster;  but  just  before  church  he  saw  the  little 
blue  figure  standing  beside  the  owner  of  the  black  bonnet. 
The  kind,  old,  wrinkled  face  was  bent  towards  the  childish 
one,  and  Janet  was  whispering  something.  And  old  Mrs. 
Gibbie  Gibson,  who  was  fortunately  very  deaf,  and  had 
not  heard  one  word  of  the  confession,  smiled  and  patted 
her  on  the  head  and  Janet  came  away  absolved  and  happy. 


CHAPTER  V 
PROMOTED  TO  THE  TOP  SHELF 

KNOX  CHURCH  realised  that  it  had  done  a  rash  and 
unprecedented  thing  in  choosing  a  mere  college  boy 
to  take  their  pastor's  place  during  his  absence.  Moreover, 
they  had  placed  him  in  this  exalted  position  without  so  much 
as  hearing  whether  he  could  preach  at  all  or  not.  To  be 
sure  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meldrum  had  both  known  his  people 
well,  and  could  vouch  for  their  respectability;  and  Old 
Gibbie  Gibson,  one  of  the  elders,  had  taken  occasion  to 
visit  and  examine  the  young  man  when  he  was  in  Toronto 
at  the  Exhibition,  and  had  pronounced  him  sound  in 
theology.  Yet  the  congregation  felt  they  were  taking  serious 
risks  and  might  have  to  pay  for  their  foolhardiness. 

But  when  Hugh  Balfour  came  down  from  the  pulpit  on 
Sunday  morning,  there  was  but  one  verdict.  He  would  do. 
Even  his  extremely  youthful  appearance,  which  at  first 
alarmed  the  older  folk,  proved  an  asset. 

"He  seems  just  like  a  nice  shy  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie 
to  her  husband,  the  Cherry  Hill  doctor.  "And  he  preached 
us  a  fine  sermon.  But  he's  young  and  good-looking  and 
I'm  afraid  he'll  spend  too  much  time  running  round  with 
the  girls." 

"He  seems  so  kind-a  free  spoken,  just  like  as  if  he  was 
one  of  our  own  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Andrew  Sinclair  to  Mrs. 
Caldwell  as  they  walked  home  together.  "I  think  he'll  be 
fine  visitin'  round.  But  I'm  afraid  he  won't  be  much  of  a 
preacher  compared  to  Mr.  Meldrum." 

"I  do  hope  he'll  spend  his  time  on  the  young  people  and 
get  them  organised  for  work,"  said  Willie  Beckett,  the 
Sunday  School  superintendent.  "We've  a  lot  of  hardened 

52 


PROMOTED  TO  THE  TOP  SHELF    53 

old  sinners  in  this  church  that  the  minister  may  as  well 
leave  alone." 

"I  hope  he  won't  waste  his  time  on  the  young  folk," 
said  old  Gibbie  Gibson,  the  elder,  as  he  and  his  wife  plodded 
homeward  across  the  pasture-field ;  she  with  her  ample  skirts 
held  up  in  either  hand,  he  a  couple  of  yards  ahead,  shouting 
back  to  her.  "The  older  folk  need  to  be  visited  more,  and 
there's  nothin'  to  be  gained  by  a  minister  runnin'  round  with 
a  lot  o'  light-headed  callants  to  tea-splashes." 

And  so  with  all  these  varied  hopes  set  upon  him,  Hugh 
Balfour  commenced  his  ministry.  Very  humbly  and  very 
tremblingly  he  took  up  the  burden,  on  the  day  that  he  said 
farewell  to  his  chief,  at  the  railway  station  in  the  neighbor- 
ing town. 

For  a  few  days  after  Mr.  Meldrum's  departure  a  deep 
gloom  settled  over  the  bare  rooms  of  the  old  grey  Manse. 
Mrs.  Meldrum  was  silently  brooding  over  her  trouble,  filled 
with  sad  foreboding.  Janet's  big  eyes  filled  with  tears  when- 
ever her  father  was  mentioned,  and  Kirsty  was  wrapped  in 
a  forbidding  gloom,  that  somehow  conveyed  to  the  young 
man  the  impression  that  the  minister  had  been  driven  ruth- 
lessly from  his  home  and  it  was  entirely  his  fault. 

For  a  time  the  young  man  was  so  busy  getting  acquainted 
with  his  people,  organising  his  autumn's  work,  and  under- 
taking the  heavy  task  of  a  weekly  sermon,  that  he  had  no 
time  to  see  much  of  the  little  girl  who  came  and  went  like 
a  sunbeam.  He  often  heard  her  fly  through  the  house  when 
she  came  home  from  school,  or  saw  her  playing  ball  with 
the  wild  Irish  family  on  the  other  side  of  the  church.  And 
he  always  met  her  at  meal  time,  when  she  had  a  great  deal 
to  say,  which  had  to  be  poured  forth  in  intermittent  streams, 
frequently  shut  off  by  a  look  or  word  from  her  mother. 

But  while  he  saw  very  little  of  her,  she  was  watching 
him  closely,  and  cataloguing  him  in  her  own  peculiar  way. 
Janet  had  a  scale  by  which  she  measured  all  her  friends. 
She  had  borrowed  it  from  Kirsty's  big  fruit  cupboard  in 
the  cellar.  There  were  three  shelves  in  this  cupboard,  each 
containing  a  different  grade  of  jams  and  preserves.  On 


54  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

the  bottom  shelf  were  the  commoner  and  cheaper  brands, 
rhubarb  conserve,  crab-apple  jam,  odds  and  ends,  or  left- 
overs from  various  picklings  and  preservings,  and  all  desig- 
nated by  Kirsty  the  "Pickin's  and  Leavin's." 

Next  above  was  the  largest  shelf.  It  contained  all  the 
substantial  jars;  strawberries,  cherries,  plums,  and  all  the 
varied  fruits  that  the  changing  season  afforded.  They 
were  the  table's  chief  support  in  the  long  winter,  and  Kirsty 
called  them  her  "Stand  Bys."  The  top  shelf  was  reserved 
for  the  very  finest  and  best.  Here  were  small  jars  of  rare 
English  cherries,  damson  plum,  peach,  and  pineapple,  and 
carefully  prepared  glasses  of  grape  jelly.  Nothing  was 
elevated  to  the  top  shelf  that  was  not  of  the  finest  quality, 
and  when  it  was  filled  in  the  late  autumn,  Kirsty  regarded 
her  cupboard  with  pride  and  contentment,  and  announced 
that  her  "Tasty  Bits"  were  complete. 

And  so  in  like  manner  Janet  had  arranged  all  her  friends 
and  acquaintances  on  three  mental  shelves. 

On  the  lowest  were  the  "Pickin's  and  Leavin's."  Most  of 
the  inhabitants  at  this  lower  stratum  were  people  she  did 
not  know  very  well ;  for  Janet  disliked  no  one.  There  were 
one  or  two  of  the  big  girls  at  school  who  thought  little  girls 
were  a  bother;  Kelly,  Senior,  who  was  father  to  Bud,  and 
a  very  poor  sort  of  father  too,  and  Spotty  Cameron,  who 
brought  the  snake  into  school,  and  always  gave  poor  Miss 
Mitchell  so  much  trouble. 

Except  for  these,  the  lowest  shelf  was  practically  empty. 
The  best  filled  one  was  the  next,  where  all  the  steady 
"Stand  Bys"  were  set.  Almost  everyone  in  Knox  Church 
stood  firmly  on  this  level.  But  the  top  shelf  was  reserved 
for  rare  souls,  and  very  few  were  found  worthy  to  dwell 
in  the  lofty  region  of  the  "Tasty  Bits."  Her  father  and 
mother  and  Kirsty  were  here,  of  course,  and  Nellie  Gillespie 
and  all  the  Kelly  children;  Miss  Lena  Sinclair  had  a  con- 
spicuous place  hefe;  but  Miss  Mitchell,  on  account  of  a 
sharp  tongue  and  uncertain  discipline,  was  left  with  the 
"Stand  Bys." 

Mr.  Balfour  was  not  difficult  to  place.    Being  a  minister 


PROMOTED  TO  THE  TOP  SHELF          55 

and  a  member  of  the  family,  she  felt  that  he  properly  be- 
longed to  the  "Stand  Bys."  But  though  she  liked  him  very 
much,  she  could  not  forget  that  he  was  taking  Daddy's 
place  and  she  had  no  thought  of  raising  him  to  a  greater 
height. 

And  then,  suddenly,  by  one  act,  he  lifted  himself  to  the 
top  shelf  of  Janet's  affections  to  stand  there  forever. 

As  the  days  went  by  he  felt  that  while  he  was  making 
progress  in  the  congregation,  he  was  not  getting  acquainted 
with  his  own  household.  The  tall  forbidding  woman  whose 
word  was  law  beyond  the  dining-room  door,  he  found  un- 
approachable. She  was  a  wonderful  cook,  and  made  pie 
crust  as  short  as  her  temper,  but  though  she  was  never 
absent  from  church  or  prayer-meeting,  she  still  continued 
to  treat  him  as  though  he  were  directly  responsible  for  the 
ill  health  and  consequent  absence  of  Mr.  Meldrum. 

The  minister's  wife,  he  found,  had  so  many  calls  and 
cares  outside  her  home,  that  she  was  away  most  of  the 
time.  Mrs.  Meldrum  was  the  leader  in  all  the  activities  of 
her  own  church,  but  her  ambition  led  her  far  beyond  Cherry 
Hill.  There  was  a  convention  here  or  a  conference  there, 
a  meeting  to  address,  or  a  committee  to  call  together.  The 
young  man  was  lost  in  amazed  admiration  of  her  energy. 

He  had  made  such  a  propitious  opening  to  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Janet  that  he  felt  puzzled  when  he  found  the  little 
girl  trying  to  avoid  him.  Janet  did  not  seem  to  be  shy, 
she  met  everyone  with  a  friendly  fearlessness,  and  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  know  why  she  suddenly  slipped  away  or  grew 
very  quiet  whenever  he  approached. 

He  found  her  one  afternoon  feeding  her  chickens,  when 
he  came  in  from  a  visit,  and  was  putting1  the  minister's 
little  muddy  car  into  its  shed. 

"Good  day,"  he  cried  genially,  coming  over  to  the  little 
fenced  enclosure  where  the  hens  were  kept.  "And  how  is  all 
your  family  to-day?" 

Janet  started  and  looked  alarmed.  "Oh !  Is  your  sermon 
ready  for  Sunday?"  she  asked  with  apparent  irrelevance. 


56  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Well,  not  quite,"  he  confessed.  "You  see  it's  only 
Tuesday." 

"But  to-morrow  night's  prayer-meeting,"  she  went  on 
anxiously.  "And  you  have  to  get  ready  for  that,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes ;  but  I  think  I'm  almost  ready,"  he  answered,  won- 
dering why  she  was  so  solicitous.  "Please,  Miss  School- 
ma'am,  you  won't  scold  me  if  I  don't  work  all  the  time,  will 
you?" 

Janet  always  saw  the  joke;  she  giggled  appreciatively. 

"Why  are  you  so  anxious  about  my  sermons,"  he  asked, 
looking  down  at  her  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"Because  Mother  said  I  wasn't  to  ever  talk  to  you  unless 
your  sermons  were  ready.  She  says  I'll  be  sure  to  spoil 
them  because  I  talk  so  much.  And  old  Mr.  Gibbie  Gibson 
told  Mother  that  your  sermon  last  Sunday  wasn't  as  good 
as  your  first  one,  and  he  told  Mother  to  be  sure  and  not  let 
me  make  a  noise  when  you  were  studying.  He  says  you 
need  to  study  an  awful  lot."  Janet  looked  up  at  him  with 
troubled  eyes.  "It  would  be  dreadful  if  I  was  to  spoil  all 
your  sermons,  wouldn't  it?"  she  asked. 

The  young  minister's  eyes  reflected  something  of  the 
worry  in  hers.  But  it  was  the  fear  that  the  Mr.  Gibbie 
Gibsons  in  the  congregation  would  make  sermonising  diffi- 
cult rather  than  little  Janet's  chatter. 

"Don't  worry  about  the  sermons,"  he  said  smiling.  "I'm 
quite  sure  you  couldn't  spoil  them  if  you  tried,"  he  added 
with  grim  humour  which  Janet  did  not  appreciate.  He 
looked  down  at  the  noisy  group  gathered  about  the  pan  of 
water  she  had  poured  out  for  them.  "See  how  the  hens  raise 
their  heads  whenever  they  take  a  drink,"  he  continued 
hastily,  fearful  of  hearing  more  comment  upon  his  dis- 
courses. "I  wonder  what  makes  them  do  it?" 

"Oh,  don't  you  know?"  asked  Janet  in  surprise.  "Why, 
they're  looking  up  to  heaven  and  saying,  'Thank  the  Lord.' 
I  know  they  are,  because  I  heard  that  old  white  hen  there 
saying  it  out  loud  one  day.  They  all  have  a  funny  way  of 
talking,  and  sometimes  I  can't  make  out  what  they  say. 


57 

Bud  knows  every  word  his  hens  say.  But  I  think  our 
hens  must  talk  Gaelic,  because  they  talk  exactly  the  way 
Kirsty  does  to  her  sister  when  she  comes  here.  Don't  you 
think  they're  smart  hens  to  talk  Gaelic,  when  nobody  taught 
them,  Mr.  Balfour?  Kirsty  taught  me  some  words,  but  I 
can't  say  nearly  as  many  as  the  black  hen.  But  sometimes 
the  white  hen  speaks  our  words,  and  one  day,  after  I'd  fed 
her,  she  went  round  saying,  "God-God-God-God-God-be- 
thank-it!"  just  like  that.  Listen,  she's  doing  it  now." 

"She  certainly  is!"  he  cried,  listening  in  surprise  to  the 
white  hen  repeating  the  words  exactly  as  Janet  had  reported. 
"The  Plymouths  can  say  it  too,"  she  went  on,  "and  Buffy, 
she's  that  pretty  brown  one  over  there  scratching,  she  says 
grace  just  like  Miss  Lena's  father  does  when  I  go  there 
for  supper.  Only  she  says  it  in  the  middle  of  a  meal,  and 
he  always  says  it  before." 

They  had  a  very  delightful  time  feeding  the  chickens, 
and  then  Mr.  Balfour  played  with  Pepper  and  admired 
Blackie's  stately  air  and  handsome  coat;  and  they  went 
indoors  and  upstairs  together,  chatting  in  the  most  friendly 
manner.  Janet's  mother  was  away  attending  a  meeting  of 
the  Women's  Canadian  Club  in  Algonquin,  along  with 
Lennie  Caldwell's  mother,  and  this  unexpected  companion- 
ship was  very  delightful  to  the  lonely  little  girl;  but  when 
they  came  to  the  study  door  she  stepped  back  hastily. 

"Come  away  in  here  and  visit  me  a  little  while,"  he  said, 
throwing  the  door  open.  She  shook  her  head.  "No,  thank 
you ;  I  used  to  come  in  every  day  when  Daddy  was  home," 
she  said,  a  wistful  look  coming  into  her  deep  grey  eyes  at 
the  mention  of  her  father,  "But  I  didn't  seem  to  hurt  his 
sermons  so  much.  I  guess  Daddy  was  used  to  my  noise,  or 
else  he  was  used  to  writing  sermons ;  and  you  see  you're  just 
starting." 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  write  anything  just  now,"  he  per- 
sisted. 

Janet's  eyes  shone.  "Oh,  do  you  think  I  could  come  in 
for  a  minute  ?"  she  whispered.  "I'm  afraid  Mother  wouldn't 
like  it." 


58  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"But  it  must  be  quite  all  right  if  I  invite  you,"  he  assured 
her.  "And  I  invite  you  right  now." 

She  stepped  in,  carefully,  on  tip-toe;  and,  seating  herself 
primly  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  sofa,  she  folded  her 
hands  and  looked  up  at  him  rapturously. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  I  think  you  must  be  just  like  God !" 
she  exploded. 

"Oh,  dear,  dear,  that's  rather  overwhelming !"  he  cried  in 
dismay.  "If  you  like  me  so  much,  you  must  come  and  see 
me  often.  I  like  little  girls." 

"Oh,  do  you  ?"  she  bounced  up  and  down  happily.  "Will 
you  invi  .e  me  in  again  if  I  try  not  to  be  a  bother  ?" 

"Indeed  I  will." 

"When  will  you  invite  me?" 

"Soon ;  to-morrow  if  you  like." 

"There!  now!'  she  cried  triumphantly.  "I  told  Mother 
I  was  sure  you  would  like  to  have  me,  but  she  said  you 
were  just  trying  to  be  polite,  because  I  was  Father's  little 
girl." 

The  dog  and  cat,  emboldened  by  their  mistress's  presence, 
came  wandering  in  after  her;  Blackie,  stately  and  dignified, 
as  if  he  wished  everyone  to  know  that  he  was  acquainted 
with  the  proper  social  usage,  and  recognised  that  this  was 
not  quite  the  thing ;  Pepper,  in  his  usual  hail-fellow-well-met 
manner,  delighted  to  come  and  quite  sure  his  host  was 
equally  glad  to  meet  him. 

Janet  looked  at  them  apologetically.  "I'm  afraid  if  I 
visit  you,  my  children  will  come,  too,"  she  said,  "and  they 
are  as  much  bother  as  I  am.  But  Peppy  isn't  a  bad  doggie, 
is  he?  And  don't  you  think  Blackie  is  a  darling?" 

She  lifted  the  big  black  cat  onto  her  knee,  and  gently 
stroked  his  beautiful  fur. 

"How  shall  I  know  if  you'd  like  me  to  come  and  see  you 
to-morrow?"  she  continued.  "When  I  come  home  from 
school  and  the  study  door  is  shut,  I  don't  know  whether 
you're  in  or  out.  And  I  listen  at  the  key-hole,"  she  went 
on,  with  cheerful  frankness,  "and  I  hear  your  chair  creak 
or  your  pen  scratch,  and  then  I  have  to  keep  quiet." 


PROMOTED  TO  THE  TOP  SHELF    59 

"Just  knock  on  the  door  and  if  I  say  'Come  in,'  why,  that 
is  a  sign  I'm  here,  and  that  I  want  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  Evidently  the  matter  had  all  been 
threshed  out.  "Mother  said  that  if  I  knocked  on  the  door 
you  would  be  too  polite  to  tell  me  to  run  away.  Children 
are  a  dreadful  bother,  Mr.  Balfour,"  she  said,  with  an  un- 
conscious imitation  of  her  mother's  manner.  "You  don't 
know,  because  you  haven't  had  any.  But  perhaps  if  I 
knocked  on  your  door,  and  asked  you  if  you  intended  to 
invite  me,  it  wouldn't  be  so  bold,  would  it  ?"  she  added  hope- 
fully. 

Kirsty  rang  the  supper  bell  before  they  had  decided  upon 
any  satisfactory  plan,  and  they  ran  downstairs  hand  in 
hand,  still  discussing  it.  Janet  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
and  poured  out  his  tea,  desperately  careful  about  cream 
and  sugar. 

They  had  a  delightful  meal,  and  Janet  talked  all  she 
wanted  to.  They  sat  so  long  at  the  table  that  Kirsty  looked 
in  from  the  kitchen  and  cleared  her  throat  ominously,  and 
they  fled  upstairs  to  the  study  again. 

And  then  Mr.  Balfour  hit  upon  the  plan  that  put  him  on 
the  top  shelf  with  the  "Tasty  Bits." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  cried,  "whenever  I  want  you  to  come 
into  the  study  I'll  put  out  a  flag.  I've  got  a  little  silk  one 
in  my  trunk." 

He  ran  to  his  room,  Janet  accompanying  him,  vastly  in- 
terested to  see  inside  his  trunk  and  asking  innumerable 
questions  about  everything  she  saw. 

The  flag  was  produced  and  its  history  told,  also  the  his- 
tory, use,  and  meaning  of  every  article  in  the  trunk  which 
Janet's  eyes  lighted  upon.  Then  she  rushed  away  to  her 
own  room,  and  rummaged  madly  in  the  drawer  of  her  little 
dresser,  scattering  things  in  all  directions,  and  came  flying 
back,  Pepper  and  the  black  cat  at  her  heels.  She  had  found 
a  piece  of  red  ribbon  that  matched  the  red  of  the  flag. 
They  tied  it  to  the  staff  of  the  flag  and  fastened  it  in  a  pretty 
loop  so  that  it  could  be  slipped  easily  over  the  knob  of  the 
door.  When  it  was  finally  hung  in  place  Janet  danced  up 


60  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  down  on  her  toes  while  Pepper  danced  on  his  hind 
legs  and  barked  with  joy. 

Then  they  had  to  see  if  the  plan  would  work.  Janet  went 
to  her  room  and  shut  herself  in,  while  he  hung  out  the  flag, 
shut  the  study  door  and  sat  down  at  his  desk  again.  A 
moment  after,  Janet  came  down  the  hall,  telling  Pepper 
they  had  better  go  out  for  a  walk,  as  there  was  no  one  in 
the  house  to  talk  to.  Then  she  looked  up,  saw  the  flag,  went 
up  very  demurely  to  the  door  and  knocked.  A  cordial 
"Come  in"  sounded ;  and  Janet  entered  to  find  Mr.  Balf our 
sitting  at  his  desk.  He  looked  up  surprised. 

"Why,  Janet!  I'm  so  glad  you  called!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Did  you  see  the  flag  on  the  door?  I  was  afraid  you  were 
out." 

Janet's  eyes  were  fairly  blazing.  "Yes,  I  happened  to 
notice  it  and  I  thought  you  might  be  lonesome,  so  I  dropped 
in  for  a  few  minutes.  I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay  long." 

But  she  did  stay  a  very  long  time  indeed;  so  long  that 
she  forgot  all  about  bedtime,  till  Kirsty  appeared  at  the 
door  to  ask  her  if  she  intended  to  sit  up  all  night. 

She  was  almost  too  happy  to  sleep,  but,  before  she  floated 
into  dreamland,  she  had  placed  her  new  friend  in  a  most 
important  position  on  the  top  shelf  of  her  friendship  cup- 
board. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SILENT  SINGER 

WELL,  something's  got  to  be  done   about  this  young- 
sters' choir,  and  done  quick!" 

Miss  Martha  Beckett  slammed  the  little  organ  shut,  and 
stood  up  facing  the  exhausted  leader  of  the  choir.  Prac- 
tice was  over;  the  children  had  gone  storming  out  into  the 
street;  and  the  young  ladies  who  had  been  struggling  with 
them  were  holding  a  council  of  war.  The  juvenile  choir 
which  was  in  training  for  the  annual  Sunday  School  supper 
and  concert  had  swelled  until  it  overflowed  the  platform. 
And  the  young  ladies  who  were  striving  to  bring  harmony 
out  o!  its  noisy  chaos,  had  finally  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  its  numbers  must  be  reduced,  or  its  leaders  would 
speedily  join  the  choir  invisible. 

"You're  the  one  that  ought  to  do  the  weeding  out,  Lena," 
said  Marjorie  Gillespie.  "I'll  make  our  Nell  and  Kitty  stay 
home  if  you  like." 

"No,  you  won't,"  cried  Miss  Beckett,  rearranging  her' 
picture  hat  before  her  mirror.  "Your  kids  can  sing,  but 
we've  got  a  crowd  here  that  can't  sing  any  better  than  our 
old  turkey-gobbler.  You  take  a  holt  o'  them  at  the  very 
next  practice,  Lena,  and  yank  out  everybody  that  can't  sing. 
And  you'd  better  start  with  young  Janet  Meldrum,  even  if 
the  new  minister  does  make  a  pet  of  her."  She  darted  a 
significant  glance  around. 

Lena  Sinclair  looked  unhappy.  She  was  a  tall,  quiet  girl, 
with  a  pale  unattractive  face;  but  a  sweet  unselfish  spirit 
looked  out  from  her  dark  eyes  and  redeemed  her  face  from 
plainness.  The  eyes  were  very  kind  just  now. 

61 


62  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"I  can't  do  it,  Martha.  The  dear  little  things  all  want 
to  be  in  it.  I'd  rather  have  the  music  spoiled." 

"Let's  ask  Mr.  Balfour  to  pick  out  the  best  singers," 
suggested  Miss  Mitchell,  who  was  a  Methodist  when  she 
was  in  her  own  home,  and  rather  enjoyed  showing  a  lack 
of  respect  for  the  Presbyterian  minister.  "You  ask  him, 
Lena.  He's  the  minister,  and  it's  his  duty  to  do  all  the 
disagreeable  jobs  around  the  church." 

But  before  the  young  man  could  be  made  a  victim,  Provi- 
dence, or  some  less  beneficent  power,  opened  up  a  way  out 
of  the  difficulty.  Next  Sunday,  as  Lennie  passed  up  the 
church  aisle,  he  gave  Janet  a  sharp  poke.  Janet  was  sitting 
at  the  end  of  the  Manse  pew  and  almost  jumped  out  of  her 
seat  with  surprise.  This  was  most  astonishing,  for  Lennie 
was  always  so  well  behaved.  Following  the  Caldwell  family 
with  her  eyes,  as  they  filed  into  their  pew,  she  understood. 
There  was  a  stranger  sitting  next  to  Lennie's  father.  Janet 
had  heard  all  about  him  at  school  the  week  before.  He  was 
Lennie's  father's  cousin,  and  the  Caldwells  had  spread  the 
news  of  his  coming  far  and  wide.  He  was  an  organist  in 
a  big  church  in  the  city,  he  had  a  string  of  letters  at  the 
end  of  his  name,  and  Doctor  at  the  beginning,  and  he  wore 
a  black  gown  over  his  clothes  when  he  went  into  the  church 
to  play  the  organ  on  Sundays.  The  Caldwells  were  inclined 
to  be  uppish  and  to  exaggerate  everything  that  reflected  glory 
upon  the  family.  The  present  Mrs.  Caldwell  had  been  a 
school-teacher,  and  thought  herself  a  little  above  her  neigh- 
bours. Indeed  it  was  said  that  she  tried  to  give  the  impres- 
sion, to  those  who  knew  no  better,  that  Grandpa  Caldwell 
had  been  a  near  relative  to  the  historic  Duke,  instead  of  his 
gardener. 

Of  course  the  visitor  had  to  be  asked  to  play  the  organ, 
and  he  went  right  up  to  the  choir  loft  and  took  Martha 
Beckett's  seat.  When  church  was  over  Mr.  Balfour  came 
down  to  him  and  said  he  had  not  dreamed  that  their  little 
organ  could  produce  such  harmonies.  But  his  enthusiasm 
was  not  shared  by  many.  Indeed  almost  everyone  said 
they  would  rather  hear  Martha  Beckett  play  any  day,  and 


THE  SILENT  SINGER  63 

young  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson,  who  had  a  sharp  tongue,  re- 
marked that  perhaps  he  couldn't  play  so  well  without  his 
gown  on,  a  remark  that  was  repeated  far  and  wide  and 
laughed  over  long  after  the  great  organist  had  gone  back 
to  the  city. 

But  Martha  Beckett  had  her  revenge.  Since  she  was 
obliged  to  give  up  playing  the  organ  on  Sunday  to  cater  to 
the  Caldwell  pride,  she  was  determined  to  get  something  out 
of  it.  No  sooner  was  the  benediction  pronounced  than  she 
walked  over  to  the  visitor  and  asked  him  if  he  would  come 
over  to  the  church  on  Monday  afternoon  and  test  the  chil- 
dren's voices,  they  wanted  to  pick  out  about  twenty  of  the 
best  singers  for  the  anniversary  choir.  If  the  Caldwells 
got  into  trouble  over  it,  she  whispered  aside  to  Miss  Mitchell, 
they  could  write  to  the  Duke  about  it. 

The  organist  was  a  kindly  disposed  elderly  gentleman, 
and  was  quite  willing  to  help  all  these  nice  little  girls  who 
were  working  so  hard  to  get  up  a  concert.  So  after  school 
on  Monday  he  walked  over  to  the  church  and  right  into 
the  trap. 

Martha  Beckett  had  announced  his  coming;  and  the  long 
crowded  rows  of  trembling  choristers  were  waiting  for 
him.  They  all  regarded  him  with  apprehensive  eyes,  and 
Jimsey  Kelly  burst  into  a  loud  wail  at  the  sight  of  him. 

So,  to  put  them  all  at  their  ease,  the  visitor  sat  down  at 
the  little  organ  and  played  and  sang  a  song.  It  was  a  very 
funny  song,  indeed;  about  a  bullfrog  that  lived  in  a  pond, 
and  a  crow  that  lived  upon  the  bank,  and  how  they  tried  to 
sing  a  duet;  while  all  the  other  crows  in  the  field,  and  all 
the  other  frogs  in  the  pond  interfered.  It  was  so  comical 
that  the  little  choir  fairly  rolled  off  its  seat  with  laughter; 
and  before  the  fun  had  subsided  the  organist  was  calling 
them  up  in  twos  and  threes  to  sing  for  him,  and  nobody  was 
half  as  frightened  as  he  had  expected  to  be. 

When  they  had  sung  the  line  of  a  hymn  or  a  song,  or 
anything  at  all  that  they  liked,  he  divided  them  into  two 
groups,  the  singers  he  sent  back  to  the  platform,  the  rejected 
ones  he  handed  over  to  Miss  Sinclair.  It  was  all  done  very 


64  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

kindly  indeed,  and  with  so  many  jokes  that  it  seemed  like 
a  delightful  game.  And  Miss  Lena  Sinclair  helped  him  by 
appearing  very  glad  indeed  when  she  received  a  new  discard, 
and  welcomed  each  with,  "Here's  another  boy  for  my  dia- 
logue, just  what  I  wanted,"  or  "Miss  Mitchell,  I  know  you'll 
be  glad  to  have  another  little  girl  to  help  you  in  that  lovely 
drill  you're  getting  up." 

But  for  all  this,  Janet's  heart  sank  as  she  approached  the 
testing  place.  She  was  very,  very  much  afraid  of  being 
put  out  of  the  choir.  She  felt  it  would  be  dreadful  if 
she  were  not  allowed  to  stand  with  the  singers  on  anni- 
versary night  and  chant  that  hymn  of  thanksgiving: 

"Father,  unto  Thee  we  raise 
This  our  sacrifice  of  praise !" 

She  and  Nellie  came  up  before  the  great  man  together, 
holding  tightly  to  each  other's  hands.  Nellie  was  trembling 
with  nervousness  over  singing  all  alone,  and  before  such 
an  audience.  Janet  was  equally  frightened,  but  for  a  differ- 
ent reason.  She  would  have  sung  "The  Holy  City"  before 
all  Cherry  Hill  without  a  qualm,  but  she  was  terribly  afraid 
of  what  her  singing  might  bring  upon  her. 

"Don't  sing  loud,  Jenny,"  whispered  Nellie.  "You  sound 
better,  when  you  sing  away  down  in  your  wind-pipe,"  and 
Janet  promised,  grateful  for  the  advice  from  one  who  really 
knew  all  about  singing  as  Nellie  did. 

Nellie  was  chosen  first.  She  stood  up  before  the  big 
man,  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  her  curls  bobbing  with  nervous- 
ness, her  hands  twisting  her  short,  plaid  skirt  into  a  ball 
behind  her,  and  sang  a  stanza  of  "God  sees  the  little  sparrow 
fall";  piping  it  forth  in  a  true,  silvery  voice,  as  sweet  and 
clear  as  a  song  sparrow  itself.  The  music-man  smiled, 
patted  her  curls,  told  her  she  was  a  canary,  and  steered 
her  straight  towards  the  growing  choir  that  was  gathering 
on  the  platform.  Then  he  turned  smiling  to  Janet. 

<fNow,  Grey  Eyes,"  he  said,  sounding  a  chord  on  the 
short-breathed  little  organ.  "You  sing  the  same,  like  a  good, 
little  robin-red-breast." 


THE  SILENT  SINGER  65 

Janet  sang  it,  just  as  much  like  Nellie  as  possible.  She 
could  have  sung  it  with  four  times  the  power  and  volume ; 
but  remembering  Nellie's  injunction  that  it  would  sound 
better  down  in  her  wind-pipe,  she  chanted  it  in  a  low  dron- 
ing voice,  all  on  one  or  two  notes,  and  in  a  melancholy 
miner. 

Martha  Beckett  giggled ;  Lena  Sinclair  flushed  and  looked 
distressed;  and  Miss  Mitchell  said  quite  loud  enough  for 
Janet  to  hear,  "What  a  raucous  voice  the  poor  child  has !" 
The  great  organist  looked  very  kind.  He  stroked  Janet's 
untidy,  brown  braid  gently. 

"Your  ear  will  develop  later,  little  one,"  he  said  in  an 
even  nicer  voice  than  he  had  used  to  Nellie.  "I  know  Miss 
Sinclair,  there,  wants  a  bright  little  girl  like  you  to  give  a 
recitation  or  something.  You  show  her  what  a  fine  elocu- 
tionist you  can  be !" 

When  the  dreadful  ordeal  was  all  over,  Janet  dragged 
herself  homeward,  walking  along  the  very  bottom  of  the 
Slough  of  Despond.  Nellie  walked  on  one  side,  Bud  on  the 
other,  striving  vainly  to  administer  comfort. 

"Aw,  who  cares  about  the  old  choir,"  scoffed  Bud.  "I'd 
just  as  soon  not  be  in  it,  anyhow." 

"I  don't  believe  I'll  stay  in  either,"  declared  Nellie,  put- 
ting her  arm  around  Janet.  "I  don't  care  even  if  we  aren't 
great  singers,  Janet,  do  you?  I'd  rather  be  a  dressmaker. 
Marjorie  says  they  make  more  money.  An'  Susie's  put  out, 
an'  Bella  an'  Tim,  an'  I  don't  want  to  be  in  it  without  you." 
Bud  further  offered  to  go  and  throw  a  stone  through  the 
Caldwell  window  and  smash  their  old  rubber  plant.  But 
Janet  refused  both  generous  offers.  There  was  no  comfort 
to  be  gained  from  the  sacrifice  of  her  friends.  She  went 
slowly  up  the  garden  walk,  not  even  noticing  Pepper  and 
Blackie  who  came  to  meet  her. 

She  would  never,  never  be  a  great  singer  after  all ;  and 
she  had  intended  to  sing  like  Sylvia  Ward  some  day.  And 
she  had  not  only  been  put  out  of  the  choir,  but  her  very 
own  teacher,  whom  she  loved  almost  next  to  Miss  Lena, 
had  said  she  had  a  raucous  voice!  And  who  knew  what 


66  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

dreadful  depths  of  meaning  might  lurk  in  a  word  with  such 
an  ominous  sound  as  raucous. 

Janet  kept  repeating  it  over  and  over  as  she  went  in 
search  of  her  mother.  But  Mother  was  out  as  usual.  Janet 
remembered  that  she  had  gone  to  a  meeting  over  at  the 
church.  She  dragged  herself  on  through  the  empty  rooms 
to  the  kitchen.  Kirsty  might  have  a  short  temper,  but  her 
sympathy  was  long  and  deep,  and  she  was  always  a  kindly 
refuge  whenever  a  little  girl  happened  to  come  home  with 
a  scratch  or  a  bruise. 

But  this  happened  to  be  an  unfortunate  occasion.  Kirsty 
was  putting  the  last  touches  to  the  icing  of  a  cake,  and 
grumbling  aloud  to  herself  as  was  her  habit  when  she  was 
annoyed.  The  cake  was  destined  for  the  quilting  over  at 
the  church,  and  Kirsty  was  giving  her  opinion  of  church 
teas  to  the  stove  and  the  table. 

"Eatin'  an'  drinkin';  drinkin'  an'  eatin';  an'  all  in  the 
name  o'  releegion !  Turnin'  the  Lord's  hoose  intil  a  den  o' 
thieves " 

Janet  turned  and  fled.  The  kitchen  was  no  place  for  her 
when  Kirsty  was  in  this  humour.  Beside,  she  suddenly  re- 
membered with  dismay  that  Kirsty  strongly  disapproved  of 
all  choirs,  little  or  big,  and  would  look  upon  her  expulsion 
as  a  kind  interposition  of  Providence. 

There  was  one  forlorn  hope  of  comfort,  the  flag  might  be 
on  the  study  door;  Janet  plodded  drearily  up  the  stairs. 
Since  the  flag  signal  had  been  arranged,  she  had  spent  many 
happy  hours  in  the  study,  and  often  when  Mr.  Balfour  went 
out  in  the  afternoon  he  left  the  flag  hanging  to  the  door- 
knob as  an  invitation  to  her  to  play  in  the  study  till  he 
returned.  Yes,  the  flag  was  there  to-day,  but  Mr.  Balfour 
was  not!  There  was  no  one  in  the  wide  world  to  whom 
she  could  go  with  her  trouble.  Then  she  caught  sight  of 
the  big  dictionary  on  the  desk.  At  least  she  could  hunt 
down  that  mysterious  word  "raucous,"  and  know  the  worst. 

The  tears  were  so  near  the  surface  now  that  she  could 
scarcely  read,  and  she  had  looked  all  down  a  page  beginning 
with  "raw"  without  finding  anything  that  might  sound  like 


THE  SILENT  SINGER  67 

"raw-cus,"  when  the  front  door  banged,  and  Mr.  Balfour 
came  whistling  up  the  stairs,  just  as  if  everyone  was  happy 
and  nobody  had  ever  been  put  out  of  a  choir  in  the  wide 
world ! 

He  stopped  suddenly  on  the  threshold.  The  little  droop- 
ing figure  bent  over  the  dictionary,  the  flushed  face  and 
tearful  eyes  told  him  there  was  something  sadly  amiss. 
Janet  rarely  cried,  and  when  she  did  he  knew  there  was  a 
serious  cause. 

"Good-day,  little  lady !"  he  cried  cheerfully.  "Want  the 
meaning  of  a  big  word?  Perhaps  I  can  help.  Was  it  a 
word  you  misspelled  in  school  ?" 

"No — it  wasn't  in  school,"  said  Janet,  holding  back  the 
tears  by  a  great  effort.  "It  was  a  word  that — a  word  Miss 
Mitchell  said  at  choir  practice." 

"Was  it  a  musical  term?  Must  have  been  Fortissimo," 
he  said  with  a  smile  at  his  own  joke. 

"No,  it  wasn't  that,"  said  Janet,  making  a  pathetic  at- 
tempt to  answer  his  smile.  "It  sounded  like  raw-cus,  but 
I've  looked  all  over  'r-a-w'  and  I  can't  find  it." 

"Oh,  raucous,"  he  said.  "It  means "  he  hesitated, 

fearing  he  might  be  adding  to  the  trouble.  "How  did  she  use 
it?" 

Janet  went  over  to  the  sofa,  and  sat  down  on  it  very 
straught.  She  folded  her  hands  tightly  in  her  pink  gingham 
lap.  She  was  determined  not  to  cry,  so  the  telling  of  the 
tragic  story  took  some  time.  But  it  was  told  at  last.  She 
had  been  put  out  of  the  choir ;  because  she  had  something 
the  matter  with  her  ears,  and  Nellie  was  left  in;  and  Miss 
Mitchell  had  told  the  great  organist  that  she  had  a  "raw- 
cus"  voice,  and  she  feared  it  meant  something  very  bad 
indeed. 

She  took  hold  of  one  ear  and  twisted  her  neck,  and 
turned  her  eyes  in  a  vain  attempt  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

"Aren't  my  ears  all  right,  Mr.  Balfour?  And  what  does 
'raw-cus'  mean?" 

Mr.  Balfour  came  over  and  sat  upon  the  sofa  beside  her. 


68  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

This  was  a  difficult  and  delicate  question  which  he  had  fore- 
seen would  have  to  be  dealt  with.  He  felt  sorry  that  he 
happened  to  be  the  one  to  meet  it.  But  he  did  not  evade  it 
as  her  mother  had  always  done. 

"It's  not  the  right  word  at  all,  Janet,"  he  said,  experienc- 
ing a  feeling  of  rage  against  the  perpetrator  of  the  word 
raucous.  "It  means  harsh."  He  felt  that  her  crystal  hon- 
esty demanded  utter  frankness  in  return.  "But  that  is  a 
great  mistake,  and  Miss  Mitchell  didn't  mean  it,  I'm  sure. 
Your  voice  is  very  sweet  and  musical.  The  trouble  isn't 
with  your  voice  at  all.  You  see  it's  this  way.  When  we 
hear  a  tune  sung,  there  is  a  little  instrument  in  our  ears  that 
tells  us  just  exactly  the  way  to  sing  it.  And  our  ears  tell 
our  throat,  and  then  the  throat  makes  the  sounds  exactly 
the  same.  And  some  people  haven't  got  that  little  instrument 
in  their  ears  grown  so  that  it  does  its  work  just  perfectly. 
I  think  that  is  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  but  you  will 
likely  get  it  when  you  are  a  little  older.  I  know  a  great 
many  very,  very  clever  people  who  are  like  that,  and  they 
cannot  sing.  But  you  are  only  a  little  girl  and  you  may  be 
able  to  sing  with  the  best  some  day." 

The  telling  of  it  had  hurt  him  more  than  it  had  her.  She 
was  comforted  a  little,  but  there  were  signs  that  the  tears 
were  still  being  held  back. 

"Perhaps  if  I  had  an  operation  I  might  be  all  right?" 
she  suggested  bravely.  "Cousin  Billy,  he's  Aunt  Flora's 
little  boy,  and  he  had  adenoids,  and  Mother  said  his  ears 
were  very  bad,  and  then  he  had  an  operation  and  had  the 
adenoids  cut  out  and  his  ears  were  all  right.  Do  you  think 
that  would  do  me  any  good  ?  I  don't  think  I'd  like  to  have 
anything  cut  out  of  me." 

"I  don't  think  I  would  worry  about  it  at  all  if  I  were 
you,"  he  said  comfortingly.  "There  are  so  many,  many 
nice  things  to  do  in  the  world  beside  sing." 

And  then  she  tried,  in  a  halting  way,  to  tell  him  the 
deepest  reason  for  wanting  to  be  in  the  choir.  She  did  not 
like  to  be  left  among  those  who  could  not  sing  the  praises 
of  their  Father  in  Heaven,  she  said  falteringly.  Didn't  he 


THE  SILENT  SINGER  69 

remember  the  hymn,  "Jesus  loves  to  hear  the  children"? 
It  was  difficult  to  explain  it,  but  he  seemed  to  understand 
without  being  told.  He  sat  looking  at  her  for  a  moment, 
thinking. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  a  story  called  'The  Unsung  Mag- 
nificat/ Janet?"  he  asked. 

The  drooping  little  figure  straightened  again  at  the  men- 
tion of  a  story. 

"No, .I'd  love  to  hear  it;  but  maybe  you  haven't  time  to 
tell  one.  Have  you  got  to  write  a  sermon  ?" 

"No,  the  sermon  can  wait.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  story 
about  some  people  who  thought  they  couldn't  sing  and  they 
were  all  wrong." 

He  leaned  back  among  the  cushions  and  began  in  the  old 
alluring  way,  "Once  upon  a  time."  The  breeze  danced  in 
at  the  window  and  ruffled  Janet's  hair  and  dried  her  tears 
as  she  listened.  It  was  the  beautiful  old  legend;  how  the 
good  monks  of  the  fen-lands  had  such  hoarse  unpleasant 
voices  that  they  felt  they  never  did  justice  to  the  great 
Magnificat — the  anthem  they  chanted  every  Christmas  Eve : 

"My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord." 

And  so  one  Christmas  Eve  they  sent  for  young  Brother 
Thomas  of  the  silvery  voice  to  come  and  sing  for  them. 
And  that  night  the  monks  all  knelt  in  the  chapel,  spellbound, 
listening  while  the  sweet  silvery  tones  of  Brother  Thomas 
floated  out  through  the  windows,  and  into  the  clear,  frosty 
night ;  and  it  seemed  to  them  as  if  the  angels  were  singing. 

And  all  the  good  monks  went  to  bed  that  night  happy,  for 
they  said  to  themselves  that  the  angels  in  heaven,  and  God 
Himself,  would  be  pleased  because  for  once  the  Magnificat 
had  been  sung  fittingly. 

But  that  night,  when  all  the  Abbey  was  sleeping,  each 
monk  in  his  little  cell,  the  old  Abbot  was  awakened  by  a 
wonderful  light  shining  around  him.  And  there  stood  a 
beautiful  angel,  looking  sad  and  reproachful.  And  the 
angel  said:  "All  these  years,  every  Christmas  Eve,  the 
Magnificat  has  sounded  in  heaven,  sung  so  sweetly  by  the 


70  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

good  fathers  of  this  Fen-land.  But  to-night  no  song  reached 
heaven.  Why  was  it,"  he  asked,  oh,  so  sorrowfully,  "that 
the  monks  neglected  to  sing  the  Magnificat  ?" 

And  the  good  old  Abbot  answered,  amazed,  and  a  little 
fearful,  that  it  had  been  sung,  that  very  evening,  in  the 
chapel;  sung  gloriously,  by  young  Brother  Thomas,  and 
far  better  than  it  had  ever  been  sung  by  them  with  their 
poor,  harsh  voices. 

And  then  the  angel  answered  that  they  had  made  a  grave 
mistake.  For  it  was  only  the  singing  that  came  from  the 
heart  that  could  reach  heaven,  and  Brother  Thomas  sang 
only  with  his  voice,  and  thought  more  of  his  silvery  tones 
than  he  did  of  praising  God.  And  though  the  good  monks 
had  hoarse,  harsh  voices,  they  sounded  in  heaven  as  the 
sweetest  music ;  so  that  the  angels  stopped  singing  to  listen ; 
for  it  was  the  real  singing  of  praise,  right  from  the  heart. 

The  little  girl  sat  motionless,  gazing  at  the  story  teller 
as  if  her  eyes  would  devour  him. 

"So,  you  see,  one  can  be  a  great  singer  without  a  voice — 
a  silent  singer,"  Mr.  Balfour  went  on.  "Our  Father  is  just 
as  pleased,  because  real  praise  comes  only  from  the  heart. 
You  can  be  one  of  His  little  silent  singers.  Did  you  ever 
hear  that  text,  'Singing  and  making  melody  in  your  heart 
to  the  Lord'?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  it,"  cried  Janet  eagerly.  "We  had  it 
for  our  Golden  Text  last  winter.  I  know  where  to  find  it 
in  the  Bible,  too !" 

She  jumped  up  and  got  her  father's  big  Bible  off  the 
desk,  found  the  text  and  read  it,  her  eyes  shining. 

They  sat  and  talked  about  it  until  Mother  came  in  from 
the  meeting.  And  it  was  a  happy  little  girl,  instead  of  a 
heart-broken  one,  who  ran  to  tell  her  that,  though  she  had 
been  put  out  of  the  anniversary  choir,  she  was  going  to  be 
a  singer  for  all  that. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  WASP  CHORUS 

JANET  came  dancing  down  her  gladioli-bordered  path  in 
the  morning  sunlight  to  meet  Lennie  coming  out  sedately 
from  his  trim  garden.  Lennie  was  always  quiet  and  well- 
behaved  and  did  not  yell  and  leap  on  the  way  to  school  as 
the  Kelly  children  did.  Janet  waited  for  him,  hopping  up 
and  down  on  one  foot,  as  he  picked  his  way  across  the 
dusty  road,  his  mother  calling  to  him  to  be  careful  not  to 
get  his  shoes  dirty. 

Away  down  the  street  Janet  could  see  Nellie  at  her  gate, 
and  spy  a  pink  arm  waving  a  warning  to  hurry.  From  the 
Kelly  yard,  beyond  the  church,  came  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Kelly,  raised  in  shrill  commands  to  her  brood  to  be  off  with 
them  or  it  was  the  blue  beech  gad  they  would  be  getting, 
ivery  wan  of  them. 

Janet  went  to  school  as  the  bee  goes  to  a  honey  blossom. 
Saturday  and  other  holidays  were  periods  of  grievous  sep- 
aration from  her  companions,  and  just  to  be  endured  until 
she  should  meet  them  again.  In  spite  of  the  disaster  of 
last  Saturday  she  was  fairly  dancing  with  joy  this  Monday 
morning ;  but  one  sight  of  Lennie's  face  quenched  her  spirits. 
There  were  tears  in  his  big  blue  eyes.  Janet  could  not  bear 
to  see  anyone  in  trouble. 

"What's  the  matter,  Len?"  she  asked  sympathetically, 
unheeding  the  frantic  wavings  from  the  pink  arm  far  down 
the  street.  "Can't  you  go  to  school  ?"  That  was  the  worst 
thing  that  Janet  could  think  of  that  could  happen  to  one  on 
a  Monday  morning. 

Lennie  shook  his  head.    It  was  ever  so  much  worse  than 


72  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

that.  "I  haven't  any  bugs,"  he  faltered,  "and  to-morrow's 
the  last  day." 

Janet  looked  grave.  This  was  really  serious.  Before  the 
holidays  Miss  Mitchell  had  issued  commands  that  each  one 
should  come  at  the  reopening  of  the  school  with  a  collection 
of  not  less  than  twelve  specimens  of  field  and  garden  insects. 
Each  was  to  be  mounted  on  pasteboard,  and  the  name  at- 
tached, and  the  collection  was  to  be  brought  to  the  school 
not  later  than  the  end  of  the  second  week  of  September. 

Janet  and  Nellie  had  had  no  trouble  with  their  collections, 
for  Bud  Kelly  had  specimens  of  every  living  creature  that 
hopped  or  crawled  or  flew  through  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  the  valley.  He  knew  more  about  the  natural 
history  of  Cherry  Hill's  environs  than  all  the  books  on  Miss 
Mitchell's  desk,  and  when  he  set  out  to  make  a  collection, 
the  lesser  inhabitants  of  forest  and  field  had  no  place  to 
rest  the  sole  of  their  feelers. 

But  Lennie  had  always  shown  a  gentlemanly  distaste  for 
this  department  of  his  education.  He  did  not  mind  studying 
grasses  and  flowers  and  leaves,  and  when  birds  were  the 
subject  of  their  nature  lessons  he  had  taken  a  mild  interest. 
To  be  sure  he  had  failed  to  report  his  total  number  of  new 
birds  observed,  because  one  had  been  a  hell-diver  spied  down 
at  the  mill  pond ;  and,  as  he  confided  in  a  whisper  to  Janet, 
he  did  not  like  to  say  the  name  of  such  a  bird  as  that  to 
Miss  Mitchell.  Janet  did  not  mind  saying  it  in  the  least, 
and  had  kindly  offered  to  report  the  bird  of  evil-sound  to 
the  teacher,  but  Lennie  chivalrously  refused  the  sacrifice. 

And  now  failure  once  more  stared  him  in  the  face.  He 
did  not  share  any  of  the  poet's  enthusiasm  for  the  grass- 
hopper and  the  cricket.  He  hated  running  after  little  jump- 
ing things  in  the  heat ;  he  hated  worse  to  catch  them ;  and, 
most  of  all,  he  hated  to  hear  them  scrambling  round  in  a 
box  after  they  were  caught. 

And  so  here  he  was  on  the  day  before  the  very  last,  with 
but  one  forlorn  grasshopper  to  his  credit.  Lennie  was  Miss 
Mitchell's  favourite  p'ipil,  and  she  would  be  grievously  dis- 
appointed. 


THE  WASP  CHORUS  73 

"Miss  Mitchell  was  at  our  place  for  tea  yesterday,"  he 
confessed  mournfully.  "And  she  asked  me  if  I'd  got  all  my 
bugs,  and  I  didn't  like  to  tell  her  I  hadn't  only  one,  and  I 
says,  'Not  quite  all/  I  says,  and  now  she'll  find  out." 

Janet  did  her  best  to  comfort  him. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  we'll  do,  Leu!  We'll  ask  Bud;  he's 
sure  to  have  ever  so  many,  and  Tim,  too.  Tim'll  get  some 
from  Spotty  Cameron.  Why,  Spotty's  desk's  just  crawling 
with  bugs !"  she  cried  cheerfully. 

Lennie  shuddered.  "Yes,  I  know  it  is,"  he  admitted  feel- 
ingly. 

The  Kellys  were  all  waiting  for  them  at  their  gate.  Molly, 
the  eldest,  was  a  tall  pale  girl,  with  a  gentle,  anxious  face. 
She  wore  a  faded  dress,  much  too  small  for  her,  and  her 
shoulders  were  stooped  from  much  carrying  of  little  baby 
brothers. 

Rosie,  round-faced  and  jolly,  just  a  little  older  than 
Janet ;  Tim  and  Bud,  who  were  engaged  in  a  wrestling  match 
in  the  dust  of  the  road;  baby  Cornelius,  who  came  to  the 
gate  in  his  mother  arms;  and  four-year-old  Jimsey  made 
up  the  lively  family  of  six. 

"Lennie  hasn't  any  bugs  yet!"  cried  Janet.  "And  to- 
morrow's the  last  bug  day,  and  somebody's  got  to  help  him 
get  them." 

With  this  sympathetic  preface,  Lennie  poured  out  his 
sad  story.  The  little  girls  were  very  sorry,  the  boys  lis- 
tened indifferently,  and  baby  Corny  crowed  in  heartless 
derision.  They  all  moved  on  schoolward,  but  Janet  re- 
mained behind  a  moment  to  hug  the  baby  and  kiss  Jimsey 
and  give  his  curls  a  comforting  pat.  Jimsey  was  not  old 
enough  to  go  to  school,  and  there  were  tears  of  rebellion  in 
his  blue  eyes,  as  he  watched  his  brothers  and  sisters  go  away 
without  him. 

A  little  farther  down  the  street  stood  Dr.  Gillespie's  home, 
and  there  waited  Nellie  and  her  sister  Kitty,  both  curled 
and  starched  and  radiant  in  clean  pink  ginghams.  They, 
too,  had  to  hear  of  Lennie's  sad  plight,  and  Kitty  Gillespie, 
who  was  always  kind  and  good,  offered  to  bring  him  two 


74  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

beetles  she  had  left  over  to  help  swell  his  collection  of  one 
grasshopper. 

Nearly  every  house  gave  its  contributions  to  the  gathering 
school  population.  Susie  Beckett,  a  fat  good-natured  girl, 
came  sauntering  out  of  her  house,  her  big  sister  Martha 
screaming  on  her  to  hurry  or  she  would  be  late  as  usual. 
A  crowd  of  MacKays  from  the  store  and  a  crowd  of  Mc- 
Duffs  from  the  blacksmith  shop  added  themselves  to  the 
growing  procession.  And  towards  the  corner,  Sinclairs  and 
Gibsons  of  all  sizes  and  ages  were  approaching  from  four 
directions.  For  it  was  a  saying  in  Cherry  Hill  that  you 
couldn't  throw  a  stone  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
Valley  without  hitting  a  Gibson,  and  having  it  glance  off  to 
graze  a  Sinclair. 

The  more  children  that  appeared,  the  happier  and  more 
excited  Janet  grew  until  she  forgot  all  about  Lennie  and 
his  troubles.  She  danced  along  with  Nellie  and  Susie  and 
Rosie,  waving  her  bag  of  books,  her  hat  hanging  down  her 
back  by  its  string,  her  thin  black  legs  and  her  thick  brown 
braid  seeming  to  change  places  as  she  leaped  and  capered 
along  the  dusty  road. 

The  procession  tripped  gaily  down  the  street.  It  hesi- 
tated before  the  village  store  window,  with  its  alluring  jars 
of  pink  candies ;  it  lingered  on  the  bridge  where  the  brown 
creek,  now  shrunk  to  a  mere  thread  of  water,  meandered 
across  the  road ;  it  paused  a  moment  before  the  open  door 
of  the  blacksmith  shop  to  view  the  work  going  on  at  the 
forge;  it  swept  indifferently  past  the  cottage  where  old 
Sarah  Kennedy,  the  village  dressmaker,  kept  her  sewing- 
machine  whirring;  it  stopped  altogether  in  front  of  old 
Mrs.  Murphy's  untidy  but  interesting  yard,  where  the  hens 
and  the  geese  and  the  pigs  made  sport  for  them  on  the 
front  lawn,  and  where  Mrs.  Murphy  always  leaned  over 
the  rickety  gate  with  her  gay  toothless  smile  and  called  out : 
"Aw  well,  now,  it's  the  darlin's  you  are,  an'  no  mistake!" 
and  it  rushed  swiftly  past  the  old  Bradley  Hotel  where 
dour  old  Watty  Sinclair  sat  scowling  at  his  window,  mend- 
ing shoes. 


THE  WASP  CHORUS  75 

Away  down  a  little  slope  the  laughing  procession  danced 
till  it  finally  swept  into  the  school  yard  nestled  just  at  the 
foot  of  Cherry  Hill.  The  school  grounds  were  marked  off 
by  something  resembling  a  fence,  but  it  was  a  nominal 
boundary,  only,  like  the  equator  or  a  meridian,  merely  for 
the  purpose  of  calculating  latitude  and  longitude.  The 
whole  of  Sam  Wright's  pasture  field,  the  "crick"  that  ran 
through  it,  and  the  patch  of  "bush"  on  the  hill  beyond,  be- 
longed to  the  pupils  by  an  inalienable  right,  and  they  used 
them  all  for  a  playground. 

The  "crick"  was  their  chief  joy.  There  was  a  deep  hole 
down  by  the  willows,  where  the  boys  dived  and  swam  in 
the  early  summer,  and  a  wide  lovely  shallow  where  it 
curled  round  a  clump  of  birches,  which  was  the  girls'  ex- 
clusive property.  Here  the  water  ran  over  silver  stones  and 
golden  sands,  and  those  fortunate  enough  to  come  to  school 
barefoot  could  run  and  splash  and  have  the  grandest  fun. 
Indeed  it  was  quite  the  most  delightful  place  in  the  whole 
wide  stretch  of  the  Valley,  and  no  wonder  Janet  felt  like  an 
exile  when  Saturday  compelled  her  to  stay  away  from 
school. 

Miss  Mitchell  came  to  the  door  and  rang  the  bell.  She 
looked  very  pretty  in  her  fresh  blue  cambric  dress,  and  at 
the  sight  of  her  Janet  forgot  all  about  the  ominous  word 
"raucous"  and  loved  her  just  as  much  as  ever. 

It  was  a  lovely  warm  day,  more  like  August  than  Sep- 
tember. The  school  windows  were  open  and  through  them 
came  the  song  of  insects  in  the  grass,  each  little  voice  re- 
minding Lennie  of  how  brief  were  his  harvest  days.  Miss 
Mitchell  also  brought  the  uncomfortable  subject  to  his  mind. 
Immediately  after  prayers  she  reminded  the  school  of  the 
date  set  for  the  collections  to  be  handed  in.  There  were 
still  two  or  three  who  had  not  yet  obeyed. 

"There  are  some,"  she  added  significantly,  "from  whom 
I  would  have  expected  a  more  prompt  response."  And  as 
she  said  it  she  looked  gentle  reproach  towards  her  favourite. 

Lennie  hung  his  head,  and  as  Janet  looked  across  the 
room  at  him  she  was  dismayed  to  see  tears  trickling  down 


76  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

onto  his  new  plaid  tie  and  starched  white  collar.  She  was 
filled  with  compunction.  In  the  joy  of  being  at  school  she 
had  forgotten  all  about  poor  Lennie's  troubles.  She  must 
do  something  to  help  him  at  once. 

Looking  around  for  possible  aid  her  eye  travelled  to  the 
rear  of  the  school  where  the  big  boys  and  girls  sat.  There 
were  Spotty  Cameron  and  Tim  sitting  in  the  very  back  seat 
next  to  the  door.  Spotty's  desk  was  always  alive  with  insects, 
and  the  big  girls  were  all  afraid  to  sit  near  him,  lest  some- 
thing dreadful  crawl  forth  from  his  menagerie,  as  the  snake 
had  done  on  a  certain  day  of  horrible  memory. 

Spotty  and  Tim  Kelly  were  inseparable  comrades.  Their 
tastes  in  insects  were  similar,  and  they  loved  the  same  sports 
and  hated  the  same  lessons.  Janet  determined  that  Spotty 
and  Tim  must  save  Lennie  from  disgrace. 

As  soon  as  the  morning  recess  had  sent  the  pupils  storm- 
ing out  into  the  playground  Janet  made  straight  for  Bud. 
She  ran  through  The  screeching  crowd  and  caught  hold  of 
him  before  he  was  engulfed  by  a  ball  game. 

"Bud,  Lennie's  got  to  have  some  bugs  before  to-morrow ! 
Won't  you  make  Spotty  Cameron  give  him  some  of 
the  nasty  things  he's  got  in  his  desk  ?  Please  do,  Bud ! 
Lennie  says  if  he  doesn't  give  them  in  this  afternoon  Miss 
Mitchell'll  be  awfully  cross,  and  maybe  she'll  keep  him  in. 
Won't  you,  Bud?" 

Bud  hung  his  head  sulkily.  There  was  small  love  between 
the  house  of  Caldwell  and  the  hovel  of  Kelly.  But  it  was 
hard  for  him  to  refuse  Janet,  and  he  had  to  get  rid  of  her 
just  now  as  quickly  as  possible;  he  could  not  have  her 
holding  him  up  in  the  middle  of  the  school  yard  this  way, 
with  a  ball  game  waiting,  and  all  the  fellows  looking  on 
ready  to  hoot  at  him  for  talking  to  a  girl. 

So  he  hastily  promised  anything,  everything.  Yes,  if 
Lennie  would  come  back  early  at  noon  and  bring  a  box  he 
would  come  too,  and  he'd  get  Spotty  and  Tim  to  help,  only 
he  had  to  get  over  there  with  the  fellows  right  away.  They 
were  waiting  for  him. 

Janet  danced  homeward  at  noon  by  Lennie's  side,  keeping 


THE  WASP  CHORUS  77 

up  his  drooping  spirits  by  the  assurance  that  all  would  be 
well. 

"Well,  how  goes  the  singing?"  asked  Mr.  Balfour,  when 
they  were  seated  at  the  dinner  table. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  all  about  it,"  cried  Janet  rather  dismayed. 
"I  guess  I  wasn't  singing  in  my  heart  to-day  after  all." 

Mr.  Balfour  laughed.  "You  certainly  looked  as  if  you 
were  when  I  saw  you  coming  home." 

"Poor  Lennie  wasn't  singing  in  his  heart.  He  hasn't  any 
bugs  for  the  collection  and  Miss  Mitchell  said  they  had  to 
be  given  in  to-morrow.  But  Kitty  Gillespie  promised  to 
get  him  some  and  Bud  said  he'd  make  Tim  ask  Spotty  Cam- 
eron for  some  more.  Spotty  has  boxes  and  boxes  of 
beetles  and  everything." 

Mr.  Balfour's  kind  brown  eyes  beamed  upon  the  little 
girl. 

"You've  found  out  the  true  way  to  make  music  in  the 
world,  Janet,"  he  said.  "It's  by  helping  other  people  to 
sing  just  as  you've  been  helping  Lennie." 

Janet  looked  surprised  and  greatly  pleased.  It  was  very 
nice  to  think  she  had  really  been  making  music,  even  though 
she  could  not  go  to  choir  practice  this  afternoon. 

The  Kelly  children  did  not  go  home  for  dinner  with  any 
degree  of  regularity.  Mrs.  Kelly  had  but  a  hazy  notion  of 
the  passing  of  time,  and  the  serving  of  meals  at  regular 
hours  was  quite  beyond  her  powers.  So  Tim  had  remained 
at  school  this  afternoon,  having  snatched  a  piece  of  bread 
and  pork  from  the  breakfast  table;  and,  further,  having 
Spotty  Cameron's  generous  dinner-bag  to  borrow  from. 

When  the  two  boys  had  devoured  their  dinner,  sitting  on 
the  roof  of  the  woodshed,  they  went  off  over  the  fields  on 
their  usual  mid-day  hunt  for  adventure. 

It  was  very  hot  for  September,  but  there  was  no  hope 
of  having  a  swim ;  for  the  boys'  pool  was  now  only  a  small 
hole  with  much  mud  and  very  little  water  in  it.  The  day 
promised  to  be  rather  dull.  They  took  but  a  languid  interest 
in  Bud's  suggestion  that  they  catch  something  for  Lennie's 
belated  collection.  Spotty  had  handed  him  out  a  miscel- 


78  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

laneous  handful  of  half-crushed  specimens  mounted  on 
cards,  but  beyond  that  he  did  not  intend  to  go. 

"Let  him  ketch  his  own  bugs,"  said  Spotty,  as  they  wan- 
dered across  the  pasture  field  towards  the  woods  and  Tim 
echoed  heartily,  "You  bet !" 

The  hot  dry  stubble  of  the  next  field  was  alive  with  grass- 
hoppers, they  leaped  up  on  either  hand  like  drops  of  water 
when  one  plunged  into  the  creek. 

Spotty  still  had  the  paper  bag  in  which  he  had  carried  his 
dinner  to  school,  so,  to  beguile  the  way,  he  caught  a  couple 
of  the  leaping,  dancing  creatures,  and  thrust  them  into  the 
bag,  where  they  rattled  around  indignant  at  their  imprison- 
ment. As  there  was  so  much  fun  with  two  grasshoppers, 
they  calculated  that  four  would  make  twice  as  much  merri- 
ment, and  they  proceeded  to  double  the  noise  and  confusion 
inside  the  big.  There  was  less  trouble  catching  than  avoid- 
ing them.  The  collection  was  doubled  many  times  over,  and 
soon  the  paper  bag  sounded  like  a  small  mill  with  all  its 
machinery  going  at  full  steam,  and  presented  a  mad  con- 
fusion of  green  and  brown  legs  and  bodies  squirming  and 
hopping  and  writhing  in  hopeless  entanglement. 

"Let's  ketch  a  pail  o'  them  an*  give  'em  to  little  Lennie 
for  his  collection!"  cried  Spotty.  And  Tim  turned  four 
hand-springs  in  a  vain  endeavour  to  express  his  apprecia- 
tion. 

"If  we  only  had  a  coupla  hornets  to  make  the  mixture 
good  V  hot,"  Spotty  added  this  lustre  to  his  inspiration. 

And  then  Tim  brought  his  feet  down  to  earth  and  added 
his  contribution  to  the  dream.  "Let's  get  that  wasps'  nest  up 
in  Sam  Wright's  old  sugar  shanty !" 

And  they  were  off  like  two  hounds  on  the  scent,  scat- 
tering grasshoppers  in  every  direction. 

Janet's  mother  never  allowed  her  to  leave  home  early 
after  dinner.  She  believed  her  little  girl  was  better  playing 
with  her  dog  and  cat  in  her  own  garden.  So  when  at  last 
Janet  burst  from  her  gate  to  go  tearing  down  the  village 
street,  Lennie  was  gone.  He  had  hurried  away  early  to 
join  Bud,  and  neither  was  in  sight. 


THE  WASP  CHORUS  79 

When  they  were  seated  in  school  Janet  looked  eagerly  at 
Bud.  He  held  up  his  ten  fingers  and  then  two  more — that 
meant  that  the  twelve  specimens  had  been  found.  Lennie 
smiled  broadly,  as  he  pointed  to  a  big  paste-board  box  at 
his  feet.  They  were  all  there,  he  whispered  to  Janet,  when 
the  first  class  was  on  the  floor,  and  the  teacher  was  busy ; 
he  had  even  got  half  of  them  mounted.  Bud  had  got  most 
of  them  from  Spotty,  but  there  were  half-a-dozen  that  were 
alive  yet.  He  shuddered  as  he  reported  this  disturbing  fact ; 
but  Bud  had  promised  to  attend  to  them  when  they  went 
home  and  his  collection  would  be  all  ready  for  to-morrow. 
He  further  whispered  the  information  that  Kitty  Gillespie 
had  given  him  a  wonderful  green  beetle,  such  as  nobody  else 
had,  and  Miss  Mitchell  would  be  simply  crazy  when  she 
saw  it. 

Janet  was  so  happy  she  could  hardly  give  her  mind  to 
the  Geography  lesson  on  the  counties  that  bordered  Lake 
Ontario.  She  had  made  Lennie  sing  in  his  heart,  and  con- 
sequently her  own  heart  was  shouting  for  joy. 

Meanwhile,  away  in  the  back  seat  where  Spotty  Cameron 
and  Tim  Kelly  carried  on  their  daily  task  of  avoiding  any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  lessons,  dire  plots  were  being  laid. 

When  Lennie's  class  was  called  to  the  front,  his  big  box 
lay  revealed  beneath  his  desk.  It  took  very  little  time  to 
transfer  it  to  the  back  seat.  The  transference  of  the  paper 
bag  to  the  box  was  not  quite  so  simple.  The  temperature  of 
the  bag  was  so  high  by  this  time,  and  the  machinery  of  the 
mill  was  making  such  a  commotion,  that  there  was  grave 
danger  of  its  attracting  the  attention  of  the  school.  Spotty 
Cameron's  desk  was  always  a  source  of  terror  to  those  un- 
fortunate enough  to  sit  near  it,  and  he  knew  it  was  not  safe 
to  make  it  too  obtrusive.  So,  when  the  new  tenants  were 
safely  housed,  the  box  was  rushed  back  to  its  original 
place. 

When  Lennie's  class  came  back  to  their  seats  the  last 
tragic  link  in  the  chain  of  ill-luck  was  forged.  Spider  Gib- 
son, who  was  really  Henry  Gibson's  Henry,  sat  opposite 
Lennie  Caldwell.  Spider  was  long  and  overgrown,  and 


80  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

always  very  weary ;  and  whenever  the  burden  of  school  grew 
too  heavy,  he  found  some  relief  in  stretching  his  long  legs 
across  the  aisle  till  his  feet  were  under  Lennie's  desk. 

He  elongated  himself  this  time  just  as  Lennie  was  taking 
his  seat.  Spider's  legs  made  a  fence  across  Lennie's  path. 
Lennie  fell ;  and  he  fell  right  on  top  of  his  paste-board  box 
and  smashed  in  the  lid. 

The  next  moment  there  arose  a  shriek  of  pain  and  terror, 
and  the  moment  after  Lennie  was  running  up  the  aisle  sur- 
rounded by  a  cloud  of  raging  wasps.  The  school  became 
suddenly  filled  with  noisy,  jumping  grasshoppers ;  and  then 
came  bedlam.  Screaming,  leaping,  crying,  dodging  and 
slapping,  the  population  of  Cherry  Hill  school  arose  and 
followed  the  example  of  poor  Lennie.  But  there  was  no 
relief  in  running;  there  was  no  escape  on  any  side.  The 
school  was  full  of  wasps,  and  if  there  happened  to  be  a 
place  where  there  was  no  wasps,  there  leaped  a  dozen  grass- 
hoppers to  scare  one  to  death. 

Every  moment,  from  newly  devastated  areas  arose  new 
squalls  of  pain  and  terror.  The  horrified  teacher  ran 
about  trying  to  clutch  a  remnant  of  order  from  the  chaos, 
but  a  fierce  buzzing  around  her  head  turned  her  attention 
to  her  own  safety. 

The  uproar  grew  terrifying.  Everyone  who  was  stung, 
and  there  was  an  alarmingly  increasing  number  each  mo- 
ment, ran  hither  and  thither  shrieking  and  crying ;  and  those 
who  were  not,  notably  Spotty  Cameron  and  Tim  Kelly,  also 
ran  and  howled  louder  than  anybody  else  and  displayed 
more  terror  than  Lennie  himself. 

It  was  almost  four  o'clock,  so  school  was  dismissed  in  a 
great  hurry.  Nobody  was  kept  in  for  unlearned  lessons, 
there  was  no  ceremony,  and  no  prayers  except  such  as  each 
was  raising  in  his  own  behalf. 

Janet  had  been  stung  on  her  arm,  and  Nellie  right  on 
the  part  in  her  yellow  curls,  and  they  ran  home,  so  absorbed 
with  their  own  troubles  that  Janet  forgot  to  even  look  to 
see  if  poor  Lennie  had  been  stung  to  death. 

Kirsty  was  alone  in  the  house  when  the  little  girl  burst 


THE  WASP  CHORUS  81 

in.  Whatever  damper  Kir  sty  might  be  upon  one's  joys,  she 
was  a  real  refuge  in  times  of  sorrow;  and  she  was  soon 
applying  soda  and  the  blue-bag,  accompanied  by  many 
endearing  words  that  were  very  comforting. 

"Hoots,  toots — there,  there,  the  bit  lassock!  Eh,  eh,  it's 
gettin'  easier  now,  isn't  it,  hinny?" 

The  stinging  pain  soon  grew  less  intense  under  Kirsty's 
gentle  ministrations  Janet's  tears  were  dried  and  the  story 
told  How  it  happened  Janet  had  no  idea.  It  was  a  dread- 
ful mystery,  but  it  seemed  as  if  Lennie's  collection  of  in- 
sects had  unmounted  itself  and  attacked  the  whole  school. 
There  was  no  other  explanation. 

Kirsty  condemned  with  indiscriminate  severity  everyone 
connected  with  the  affair.  Miss  Mitchell  came  in  for  the 
deepest  censure.  "It's  jist  what  ah'd  expect!  Why  doesn't 
she  learn  the  bairns  to  read  and  spell  and  do  their  sums 
instead  of  spendin'  their  time  at  a  lot  o'  silly  worms.  Col- 
lectin'  insects  indeed!  As  if  there  wasn't  enough  such 
abominations  on  the  earth  without  folk  runnin'  after  them ! 
Havin'  the  school  crawlin'  with  vermin !  The  scholars  can 
think  o'  plenty  o'  bad  things  to  do  without  their  teacher 
puttin'  more  into  their  heads!" 

When  Janet  had  been  further  solaced  with  a  couple  of 
cookies,  and  was  feeling  quite  herself  again;  and  had  be- 
gun to  wonder  how  poor  Lennie  and  Bud  had  fared,  Kirsty 
took  the  opportunity  to  admonish  her  regarding  her  foolish 
habit  of  running  hither  and  skither,  here-away,  there-away, 
getting  into  mischief. 

"But  it  was  right  in  school  when  I  was  -working  my  frac- 
tions that  I  got  stung,  Kirsty,"  argued  Janet  reasonably,  and 
Kirsty  bade  her  run  away  to  her  sums  and  not  answer  back. 

Mr.  Balfour  had  been  away  all  day  visiting  the  people  of 
his  congregation  who  lived  away  down  the  valley  near  Lake 
Simcoe,  a  very  respectable  region  which  went  by  the  rather 
sinister  name  of  "Down  Below."  So  it  was  not  until  even- 
ing that  Janet  had  a  chance  to  tell  him  of  the  day's  dis- 
aster. 

The  warm  September  day  had  ended  in  a  glorious  sunset 


82  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  she  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  back  porch  study- 
ing her  spelling.  When  Mr.  Balfour  had  put  the  little  car 
into  the  shed,  he  came  and  sat  on  the  steps  beside  her  and 
heard  the  tale  of  her  unsuccessful  attempt  at  making  music. 

Mr.  Balfour  had  no  light  to  shed  on  the  mystery  of  the 
wasps;  though  he  shook  his  head  wisely  and  looked  as  if 
he  knew  a  great  deal  more  than  he  confessed. 

"I  tried  to  make  Lennie  sing  in  his  heart,  but  I  made 
nearly  everybody  in  school  cry  instead,"  Janet  concluded 
rather  dejectedly. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "you  tried,  that's  the 
chief  point.  You  see  music  isn't  learned  easily,  and  when 
people  are  practising  they  often  make  discords." 

Janet  smiled,  much  comforted.  Mr.  Balfour  was  really 
a  very  wonderful  sort  of  Tasty  Bit.  She  felt  that  he  ought 
to  have  a  shelf  all  to  himself.  The  glory  of  the  sky  was 
fading  to  a  delicate  green  and  gold  above  the  hills  where 
one  silver  star  shone  faintly.  Nearer  the  darkening  earth 
the  red  of  the  sunset  still  shone  through  the  orchard  aisles. 
The  black  trunks  of  the  trees  stood  out  against  the  radiance. 

"What  a  beautiful  world  we  live  in,  Janet,"  he  said  softly. 
"It  should  be  all  music,  shouldn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  if  it  weren't  for  wasps  and  things,"  sighed  Janet. 
"And  if  everybody's  ears  were  all  right  so  they  could  sing. 
It's  getting  dark,"  she  whispered  after  a  moment's  silent 
contemplation  of  the  beauty  of  the  evening.  "What  is  the 
dark,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"I  suppose  it's  a  big  blanket  that  God  spreads  over  the 
earth  when  it  is  time  for  it  to  go  to  sleep." 

"And  those  trees  look  like  big  black  pins  stuck  in  the 
blanket  to  hold  it  down,  don't  they?"  she  added. 

"The  day  Thou  gavest,  Lord,  is  ended, 
The  darkness  falls  at  Thy  behest," 

sang  Mr.  Balfour  softly. 

"I  wish  I  could  sing  it  like  that,"  sighed  Janet,  when  he 
had  ended.  "I  don't  mean  down  in  my  stomach,  I  mean  out 
loud  the  way  you  do.  But  I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  be  able 


THE  WASP  CHORUS  83 

to,  unless  tunes  go  out  of  fashion.  Maybe  they  will  some 
day,"  she  added,  brightening.  "Don't  you  think  I  would 
have  been  a  good  singer  if  I'd  lived  before  tunes  were  in- 
vented, Mr.  Balfour?" 

"Indeed,   I'm  sure  you   would,"  he  answered   heartily. 
"But  you're  a  good  singer  right  now,  remember  the  Mag- 
nificat.    Why,  you've  been  trying  to  make  melody  all  day 
that's  heard  in  heaven.     I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  the 
angels  call  you  Janet  Melody." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  MAKER  OF  Music 

IT  was  a  lovely  practice,  wasn't  it?"  said  Janet,  with  a 
tremendous  effort. 

It  was  Saturday  morning,  and  the  last  practice  for  the 
anniversary  was  over.  Mr.  Balfour  had  come  in  and  stood 
a  few  minutes  at  the  door  listening  to  the  last  chorus.  It 
was  over  and  Janet  and  he  were  walking  across  the  lawn 
towards  home,  she  taking  great  strides  to  keep  step  with 
him. 

"Did  you  see  where  Nellie  stood?  That  used  to  be  my 
place."  ' 

"But  I  saw  you  singing,  all  the  same,  Jenny  Melody," 
he  said. 

"Me?"  she  asked,  puzzled. 

"Yes,  I  saw  by  the  way  you  held  up  your  head  that  you 
were  singing  in  your  heart  and  singing  better  than  any- 
one in  the  choir." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  one  of  her  adoring  smiles  and 
almost  lost  her  balance. 

"I  guess  I  wasn't  singing  very  hard,"  she  admitted.  "I 
was  wanting  so  much  to  be  up  there  singing  with  Nellie. 
I  wonder  if  I'll  ever  be  able  to  sing?  That  man,"  Janet 
always  referred  to  the  organist  who  had  ended  her  musical 
career  as  "That  Man,"  "that  man  said  my  ears  would  de- 
velop some  day,  but  I  look  at  them  in  the  glass  every  morn- 
ing and  I  don't  see  any  difference.  Do  you  think  my  ears 
are  any  longer  than  they  were  when  you  came  here,  Mr. 
Balfour?" 

He  did  not  laugh  as  so  many  grown-up  people  did  at 
Janet's  queer  questions.  He  looked  down  very  kindly  at 

84 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  85 

her  pink  ears  peeping  from  the  tangled  masses  of  her  heavy 
hair.  "They're  )ust  the  right  length,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
wouldn't  worry  any  more  about  them.  I  think  heart  music 
is  much  better  anyway." 

Dinner  was  ready  and  they  sat  down  opposite  each  other 
and  considered  what  would  be  the  best  way  to  make  melody 
all  afternoon.  Mrs.  Meldrum  had  gone  away  for  the 
day.  The  Women's  Institute  of  West  Hampton,  a  town 
some  miles  east,  had  asked  her  to  address  them  that  after- 
noon. Kirsty  was  especially  busy,  for  she  had  a  campaign 
of  preserving  fruit  on  her  programme,  as  well  as  her  Sat- 
urday's cleaning.  Plainly,  this  was  going  to  be  a  difficult 
day  for  Janet. 

"You  see,"  he  said  as  he  carved  Kirsty's  roast,  which  was 
done  exactly  right,  "no  one  can  really  sing  in  her  heart 
unless  she  makes  some  one  else  happy.  So  you  look  out 
for  someone  this  afternoon." 

"There  isn't  anybody  but  you  and  Pepper  and  Blackie 
and  Kirsty;  and  you're  too  busy,  and  Pepper  and  Blackie 
are  happy  already,  and  Kirsty  says  I  drive  her  clean  daft 
when  I  try  to  help  her." 

This  was  not  very  encouraging. 

"I  think  you  might  find  some  way  of  helping  Kirsty  with- 
out worrying  her,"  he  suggested  gently.  "She  seems  to  have 
a  very  great  deal  of  work  to  do  to-day,  and  I  feel  sure  she 
would  like  to  have  a  bright,  smart,  little  girl  to  help  her." 

And  then  he  went  away  upstairs,  and  took  down  the  flag 
and  closed  the  study  door,  feeling  as  if  he  ought  to  be  ar- 
rested for  cruelty  to  children ;  and  wishing  that  Mrs.  Mel- 
drum  was  not  quite  so  popular  with  the  outside  world, 
when  there  was  a  little  living  electric  battery  at  home, 
charged  to  the  danger  point. 

Janet  nobly  did  her  part.  She  went  to  the  kitchen  in 
search  of  employment.  Here  she  found  Kirsty  making  plum 
jam  for  the  Stand  Bys. 

Kirsty  despised  all  recipes  and  cook-books,  and  all  the 
poor  helpless  trollops  who  depended  upon  such  things.  She 
particularly  held  in  disdain  the  meetings  of  the  Women's 


86  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Institute  in  which  Mrs.  Meldrum  was  so  interested,  and 
heard  with  derision  of  women  coming  out  from  town  to 
give  talks  on  this  or  that  branch  of  .housekeeping.  Kirsty 
never  took  advice  from  anyone  on  cooking,  never  followed 
a  rule  or  precept,  and  never  made  a  mistake. 

But  just  because  she  was  so  efficient  she  was  not  a  very 
comfortable  person  To  assist.  Janet  knew  that  Kirsty  did 
not  approve  of  her  presence  in  the  kitchen,  and  she  opened 
the  door  a  very  small  way  and  humbly  offered  her  services. 

"Huts,  why  can  ye  no  go  an'  set  down  on  a  chair  an' 
learn  yer  lesson?"  she  complained.  "Here  then,"  she  added 
grudgingly,  "ye  can  take  the  slones  out  o'  them  plums." 

She  tied  a  huge  apron  around  Janet's  neck  so  that  it  cov- 
ered even  her  feet.  "Set  out  yonder,"  she  added,  indicating 
the  back  porch. 

Janet  installed  herself  on  the  porch  bench  with  a  big 
basket  of  plums  before  her  and  a  large  bowl  on  her  knee. 
Kirsty  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and  she  was  left  alone  with 
her  dog  and  cat,  and  the  lovely  sun-bathed  view  of  field  and 
valley  and  hill  that  stretched  out  far  beyond  the  orchard 
trees. 

Janet  soon  discovered  that  the  stoning  of  plums  was  a 
wearisome  task.  She  could  have  done  it  literally,  with  much 
zest,  before  the  toilsome  basket  was  finished.  Her  fingers 
grew  sore,  her  back  ached,  her  hair  got  in  the  way,  and 
plum  juice  streamed  over  her. 

She  beguiled  the  heavy  moments  by  sending  a  stream  of 
questions  through  the  screen  door  that  opened  into  the 
kitchen;  questions  that  were  in  no  way  calculated  to  help 
keep  Kirsty  cool  in  the  combined  high  temperatures  of 
the  kitchen  stove  and  a  hot  temper. 

"Kirsty,"  Janet  called  for  the  third  time.  "Kirsty,  why 
do  you  suppose  every  plum  has  to  have  a  stone  in  it  ?" 

"It's  the  Almighty  that's  put  them  there,"  declared  Kirsty, 
shoving  a  stick  of  wood  into  the  stove  with  unnecessary  en- 
ergy "An'  poor  sinful  bein's  has  no  right  to  be  complainin' 
against  His  ways." 

Janet  squeezed  the  heart  out  of  a  blue  sphere,  thereby 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  87 

squirting  a  little  fountain  of  juice  right  into  Pepper's  face, 
and  creating  a  very  hilarious  diversion.  When  he  was 
quieted  again,  Janet  took  up  her  side  of  the  argument  once 
more. 

"But  I  don't  see  the  use  of  putting  a  stone  into  every  one, 
Kirsty,"  she  called.  "They'd  be  so  much  better  without." 

"And  where  would  ye  be  gettin'  new  plum  trees,  I'd  like 
to  know  ?  The  stones  are  the  seeds  and  they  make  the  new 
trees." 

But  Janet  did  not  easily  give  up  the  struggle  against  exist- 
ing evils. 

"Well,"  she  declared,  "I  think  it  was  a  foolish  way  to 
manage  things,  then.  There's  billions  and  trillions  of  plums 
on  our  trees,  and  we'd  never  want  that  many  new  trees. 
There  wouldn't  be  room  in  all  the  valley  if  we  planted  them 
all;  and  Lennie's  father  has  more  than  we  have.  Why 
couldn't  there  be  just  one  plum  on  every  tree  with  a  stone 
in  it?  That  would  be  plenty." 

Here  the  plum  jam  elected  to  boil  over,  and  Kirsty  did 
not  take  time  to  rebuke  this  irreverent  and  rebellious  spirit ; 
while  Pepper,  having  rather  enjoyed  his  encounter  with  the 
plum  juice,  came  dancing  along  on  his  hind  legs,  coaxing 
Janet  to  repeat  the  joke.  She  very  willingly  accepted  the  in- 
vitation, and  from  this  moment  the  stoning  of  the  plums 
proved  a  very  pleasant  function. 

When  the  jam  had  subsided  to  a  proper  simmer  Kirsty 
came  out  to  investigate  the  cause  of  the  loud  and  untimely 
merriment.  A  dreadful  sight  met  her.  From  head  to  foot 
Janet  was  dripping  plum  juice.  Even  her  hair  and  shoes 
were  besmeared.  The  porch  floor  was  swimming,  and 
Blackie  had  retired  in  disgust  to  a  dry  perch  away  at  the 
other  end;  while  a  purple-spotted  dog  disported  himself 
in  the  midst  of  the  mess,  to  the  accompaniment  of  Janet's 
shrieks  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  eh,  preserve  us!"  cried  Kirsty  in  horror.  And  cer- 
tainly Janet  looked  quite  ready  to  preserve,  resembling  a 
huge  plurn  much  more  than  a  human  child. 


88  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Kirsty  caught  her  up  by  the  back  of  her  apron  and  shook 
her. 

"Got  o'  this!"  she  cried.  "I  knew  there'd  be  no  good 
come  o'  you  an'  yon  pup  meddlin' !" 

She  drove  Pepper  off  the  porch,  and  shoved  Janet  inside, 
declaring  that  it  would  take  her  longer  to  clean  up  after 
her  than  to  stone  all  the  plums  in  the  Manse  orchard. 

Thus  banished,  the  mistaken  maker  of  music  went  slowly 
upstairs  to  her  room.  She  washed  her  hands  and  face, 
leaving  purple  marks  on  the  towel,  and  then  looked  about 
her.  She  had  been  a  failure  again.  She  had  only  brought 
trouble  to  Kirsty.  She  could  not  work,  she  could  not  go 
out  and  play  with  Bud,  and  still  the  long  dreary  length  of 
Saturday  afternoon  stretched  ahead  of  her. 

She  wandered  along  the  hall  to  find  that  the  study  door 
was  shut  and  no  welcome  flag  was  displayed.  She  balanced 
herself,  face  downward,  on  the  bannister  and  slowly  slid  to 
the  bottom,  her  head  and  her  long  braid  hanging  perilously 
far  over.  Pepper  was  waiting  on  the  front  veranda  wagging 
his  tail,  and  looking  at  her  enquiringly,  wondering,  in  his 
kind  doggish  mind,  just  what  was  the  matter. 

Janet  stepped  out  to  join  him,  and  there  on  the  veranda 
table  lay  the  Saturday  towel  which  had  not  yet  got  itself 
hemmed.  Janet  suddenly  remembered  that  her  mother 
said  she  was  to  finish  it.  She  took  it  up  as  if  it  had  been 
hung  with  weights  and  sank  heavily  into  her  little  chair. 

"I  feel  as  if  I'd  get  sick  and  have  to  go  to  bed  if  I  sew 
you,"  she  groaned,  addressing  the  piece  of  unfinished  sew- 
ing. She  laid  it  on  her  lap  and  looked  about  her  for  some 
means  of  escape. 

Across  the  street  the  Caldwell  garden  glowed  in  the  sun- 
shine, but  Lennie  was  no  where  to  be  seen.  He  had 
gone  to  town  with  his  parents  that  morning.  Her  own 
garden  smiled  at  her  invitingly.  The  September  grass  was 
as  green  as  it  had  been  in  June.  The  yellowing  elms  along 
the  lawn,  the  scarlet  salvia,  the  asters  and  the  hollyhocks, 
nodded  at  her  invitingly.  Down  the  shady  aisles  of  the 
orchard  a  conical  pile  of  rosy  apples  gleamed  forth;  the 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  89 

hens  and  chickens  in  their  little  enclosure  were  singing  and 
chatting  happily.  It  was  a  delightful,  languorous,  lazy  Sep- 
tember day. 

But  Janet  was  neither  languorous  nor  lazy.  The  silence 
and  peace  of  the  garden  made  no  appeal  to  her,  for  Bud 
was  away  over  the  hills  hunting  beech  nuts,  and  Nellie  and 
Kitty  were  playing  ball  in  their  yard  far  down  the  street. 
How  could  anyone  make  music  when  there  was  no  audi- 
ence that  wanted  to  hear  it  ? 

She  flung  the  towel  around  her  shoulders  for  a  shawl, 
and  catching  up  Pepper,  began  rocking  him  and  singing  a 
loud,  discordant  lullaby. 

Pepper  did  not  mind  the  noise,  but  he  hated  to  be  used 
as  a  doll.  He  squirmed  free,  and  leaped  to  the  veranda 
floor.  Then  he  looked  towards  the  street  and  gave  a  sharp 
bark.  Janet  jumped  from  her  chair  and  went  down  the 
garden  path  with  joyous  leaps.  Her  Sunday  School  teacher 
had  paused  at  the  gate ! 

"Oh,  Miss  Lena,  oh,  Miss  Lena !  You're  coming  in,  aren't 
you?  Do  please  come  in  and  see  me  and  Mr.  Balfour." 
Janet  clutched  her  hand  in  both  hers.  "Mother's  away 
and  I  can't  go  anywhere,  and  I  want  to  go  away  and  sing 
to  someone  and  Mother  isn't  here  for  me  even  to  ask  her." 

"To  sing  to  someone?"  asked  Lena,  puzzled. 

"Oh,  not  to  sing  out  loud,  just  co  make  them  feel  happy, 
and  to  sing  and  make  melody  in  my  heart  to  the  Lord,  the 
way  Mr.  Balfour  told  me.  I  tried  Kirsty,  but  it  didn't 
work." 

Miss  Lena  Sinclair  sat  down  on  the  veranda  seat,  and 
looked  very  much  interested.  That  was  just  like  Miss  Lena, 
she  was  always  ready  to  drop  her  own  affairs  to  listen  to 
other  people's  troubles ;  and  no  wonder  Janet  was  convinced 
that  she  was  the  kindest  and  best  and  most  beautiful  teacher 
that  ever  blessed  a  Sunday  School  class.  Unfortunately, 
though  Lena  Sinclair  was  a  very  amiable  young  lady  in- 
deed she  was  not  at  all  as  beautiful  as  Janet  believed.  She 
was  a  tall  girl,  slow  of  movement,  with  a  pale  unattrac- 
tice  face,  except  for  a  pair  of  fine  dark  eyes.  She  was 


90  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

always  well  dressed  for  her  father  was  one  of  the  wealthiest 
farmers  in  that  district  of  wealthy  farmers.  She  had  been 
away  at  school,  too,  and  had  studied  music  in  Algonquin, 
the  neighbouring  town,  but  she  had  come  home  this  sum- 
mer to  allow  her  younger  sister  to  leave  for  school.  She 
intended  to  go  away  again  when  the  heavy  summer  work  of 
the  farm  was  over,  but  the  gossips  all  very  kindly  pointed  out 
to  each  other  that  it  wasn't  likely  Lena  would  be  in  a 
hurry;  now  that  there  was  a  fine  looking  young  minister 
in  the  church. 

"Tell  me  all  about  this  new  way  of  making  music,"  she 
said  kindly.  Of  course  she  had  heard  about  the  silent  sing- 
ing from  Janet  at  Sunday  School,  but  she  had  not  known 
that  it  included  making  other  people  sing. 

"Yes,  that's  what  Mr.  Balfour  says,"  Janet  declared,  rock- 
ing violently  in  her  little  chair.  "He  says  that  if  you're 
really  making  music  in  your  heart  to  the  Lord,  you'll  make 
other  people  happy.  But  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  do  it 
myself.  I  tried  it  on  Lennie  and  he  got  into  a  wasp's  nest 
right  in  school ;  and  to-day  I've  been  trying  to  make  music 
for  Kirsty,  and  I  just  made  an  awful  muss  on  the  back 
porch  instead;  and  now  I  can't  do  anything  but  sit  here 
all  day  long  and  hem  a  towel.  Oh,  Miss  Lena,  did  your 
mother  make  you  hem  towels  when  you  were  a  little  girl  ? 
Don't  you  think  towels  would  do  just  as  welt  without  a 
hem?  I  think  fringe  is  prettier.  But  I  wish  I  could  go 
out  and  find  somebody  and  make  them  sing!" 

"If  your  mother  wouldn't  mind  why  couldn't  you  come 
with  me?  I'm  going  to  make  some  visits,  and  you  would 
be  sure  to  find  somebody  who  needed  to  be  cheered  up." 

Janet  fairly  groaned  aloud.  "Oh,  but  Mother's  away,  and 
I  can't  ask  her!" 

"Well — suppose "  her  teacher  looked  away  through 

the  trees  down  the  white  road.  "Can't  you  ask  anyone 
else?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  any  use  to  ask  Kirsty,"  said 
Janet  mournfully.  "She  doesn't  like  me  to  go  stravogin'— 
that's  going  down  into  the  village  on  Saturdays,  or  over 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  91 

into  the  field  with  Bud.  Oh,  Miss  Lena!"  she  jumped 
from  her  seat,  "do  you  think  it  would  be  all  right  if  I 
asked  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"Why,  I  should  think  so.  I  think  I'd  try  and  see,  any- 
way." 

"But  there's  no  flag  on  his  door,  and  he's  writing  his 
sermon ;  and  I  promised  on  my  word  and  honour  that  I'd 
never,  never  knock  on  the  study  door  when  the  flag  wasn't 
out ;  only  unless  the  house  was  on  fire,  but  I  couldn't  set  fire 
to  the  house,  even  to  get  away  with  you !"  she  ended  with  a 
great  sigh  of  renunciation. 

"What  do  you  do  when  a  caller  comes  to  see  him  ?"  asked 
Miss  Lena,  thinking  Janet  seemed  rather  slow  for  such  a 
clever  child. 

"Oh,  I  have  to  go  and  tell  him  then,  but  there's  no  caller 
now."  And  then  light  dawned  upon  Janet  at  last,  and  she 
jumped  out  of  her  chair  again. 

"Oh,  Miss  Lena,  you  be  a  caller,  will  you?" 

Miss  Lena,  after  some  coaxing,  consented;  and  Janet 
went  up  the  stairs  like  a  storm  of  wind,  and  knocked  on  the 
study  door. 

In  response  to  a  "Come  in,"  she  stood  on  the  threshold, 
her  eyes  so  brilliant,  her  face  so  joyful,  that  Hugh  Balfour 
stared  at  her. 

"Please,  Mr.  Balfour,"  she  said,  her  breath  coming  in 
gasps,  "there's  a  lady  downstairs  to  see  you, — a  caller." 

As  he  went  down  the  stairs,  Janet  leaping  along  at  his 
side,  she  confessed  quite  frankly,  all  about  the  little  subter- 
fuge. 

"You  see  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you'd  let  me  go  out 
with  Miss  Lena;  and  I'd  promised  I  wouldn't  rap  on  the 
door  unless  the  flag  was  out,  or  there  was  a  caller ;  so  we 
just  pretended  that  Miss  Lena  was  a  caller.  She  isn't 
really  one,  you  know;  because  there's  nobody  here  to  call 
on  when  Mother's  away ;  but  I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind 
if  I  got  you  to  come  down !  And,  please,  Mr.  Balfour,  do 
you  think  Mother  would  mind  if  I  went  down  to  Nellie's 


92  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

with  Miss  Lena ;  'cause  then  I  might  find  somebody  that  was 
unhappy  like  you  said.  Do  you  think  I  could  go?" 

Mr.  Balfour  went  smiling  down  to  the  veranda.  He 
found  Miss  Lena  very  pleasant  and  agreeable;  and  when 
it  was  settled  that  Janet  might  go,  they  sat  and  had  a  very 
pleasant  little  chat  while  she  went  storming  upstairs  to 
get  her  hat. 

When  she  returned  and  the  two  had  gone  away  together, 
the  young  man  stood  at  the  open  door,  and  watched  them 
go  down  the  flower-bordered  walk,  the  tall  figure  in  the 
pretty  blue  suit,  and  the  leaping,  dancing,  little  one  in  the 
short  plaid  skirt,  and  the  little,  black  packet.  He  went 
back  to  his  task  and  worked  all  the  better  for  the  pleasant 
little  interruption. 

Meanwhile  Janet  went  skipping  along  by  her  teacher's 
side ;  her  tongue  keeping  pace  with  her  dancing  feet.  Didn't 
Miss  Lena  think  Mr.  Balfour  was  the  best  and  kindest  and 
loveliest  minister  in  the  whole  wide  world,  except  Father? 
Janet  was  sure  of  it;  and  she  beguiled  the  way  by  tales 
of  all  the  wonderful  things  he  did  and  all  about  the  flag 
and  the  good  times  they  had  together;  and  how  he  called 
her  Miss  Melody  or  Jenny  Melody;  how  she  was  afraid 
he  did  not  love  Blackie  with  his  very  whole  heart,  though  he 
had  admitted  that  he  loved  him  some ;  but  he  loved  Pepper 
very,  very  much  indeed ;  and  he  had  a  dog  at  home  named 
Towser;  and  he  had  a  sister  whose  name  was  Maud;  and 
she  had  a  lovely  baby,  and  he  had  its  picture,  etc.,  etc. 
It  was  a  tale  of  endless  adulation;  but  Miss  Lena  did  not 
seem  to  tire  of  it ;  but  listened  as  though  she  was  really  in- 
terested. 

The  first  visit  was  exactly  to  Janet's  liking,  for  it  took 
Miss  Lena  to  see  her  friend  Marjorie  Gillespie,  who  was 
Nellie's  big  sister.  Nellie's  father  was  the  village  doctor. 
He  was  mounting  into  his  battered  and  dusty  car  as  they 
stopped  at  the  gate.  He  was  in  a  hurry,  and  when  Doctor 
Gillespie  was  pushed  for  time  he  was  very  cross,  and 
announced  the  fact  to  the  whole  countryside. 

"Good  day,  Lena,"  he  said  shortly,  in  answer  to  their 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  93 

greeting.  "Good  day,  Janet,  good  day !  Yes,  it's  fine,  but 
we'll  have  rain  soon.  This  can't  last  in  September.  Go 
on  in.  You'll  find  the  girls  sitting  round,  wasting  their  time, 
as  usual.  It's  great  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  dress  up  and 
sit  on  a  veranda  all  day.  The  Almighty  take  pity  on  the 
man  that  gets  a  wife  these  days!  He'll  have  to  be  a  mil- 
lionaire several  times  over,  and  then  his  wife'll  be  wanting 
something  he  can't  afford !" 

He  drove  away,  his  rattly  little  car  striving  with  him 
to  see  which  would  make  the  more  noise. 

"Father's  been  scolding  for  an  hour  because  I  asked  him 
for  a  new  dress;  and  Isabel  asked  for  more  money  for 
school,"  said  Miss  Marjorie  Gillespie,  a  fair,  pretty  girl 
of  eighteen,  coming  out  on  the  veranda  to  meet  the  visitors. 
"I'm  going  to  leave  home  and  earn  my  own  living;  I've 
decided  on  that.  I'm  going  this  month,  for  sure." 

As  Marjorie  Gillespie  was  always  about  to  leave  home 
on  account  of  her  father's  bursts  of  temper,  her  friend  was 
not  disturbed  over  the  announcement.  The  wire  door  swung 
open  and  the  mother,  a  large,  placid,  handsome  woman, 
came  out  on  the  veranda.  Mrs.  Gillespie  minded  her  hus- 
band's outbursts  no  more  than  a  beautiful  mountain  minds 
the  thunder. 

"Why,  Lena,"  she  exclaimed.  "Come  away  and  sit  down. 
How  is  your  mother's  rheumatism?" 

Nellie  came  bounding  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and 
the  two  little  girls,  their  arms  about  each  other,  skipped 
away  to  the  magic  palace  of  dolls  and  dolls'  furniture: 
Nellie's  playhouse  in  the  back  yard. 

The  visit  was  all  too  short;  Janet  was  called  away  be- 
fore they  had  examined  half  the  new  treasury  of  broken 
dishes  that  Nellie  had  collected. 

"Sylvia  may  be  home  next  week,"  Miss  Lena  was  say- 
ing, as  they  paused  at  the  pretty  gate  in  the  cedar  hedge. 
"She's  coming  out  to  see  Grandmother." 

"Sylvia!  Won't  that  be  grand.  Let's  get  her  to  sing 
at  the  anniversary.  I  suppose  she  sings  better  than  ever." 

"Yes,  I  think  she  does."     Miss  Lena's  voice  was  not 


94  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

enthusiastic;  her  rather  sad  face  had  grown  sadder.  "I'll 
write  and  ask  her  if  you  like,  Marjorie.  I  know  she'll  sing 
if  she  comes,  but  you  know  how  it  is  with  Sylvie,"  she 
added  with  a  half -apologetic  laugh,  "she  may  change  her 
mind  at  the  last  minute." 

"Oh,"  cried  Janet,  "I  hope  she  comes.  Nellie  and  I  in- 
tended to  be  great  singers  like  her,  didn't  we,  Nell?  But 
now  I  can't,  'cause  there's  something  wrong  with  my  ears." 

They  all  laughed  at  this;  and  though  Janet  still  felt 
the  matter  to  be  a  tragedy,  she  laughed  too.  She  went 
dancing  away  down  the  street  with  Miss  Lena,  dodging 
from  one  side  to  the  other  in  a  game  of  "See-your-face- 
last"  with  Nellie.  When  she  had  finally  taken  her  leave, 
Janet  remembered  her  errand  of  mercy.  The  Gillespies  were 
such  a  jolly  family,  even  the  doctor,  when  he  was  not 
in  a  temper,  that  one  could  not  think  of  the  sad  side  of 
life  in  their  presence.  Janet  felt  she  had  failed  to  justify 
her  journey  from  home.  She  had  not  brought  music  into 
anyone's  life. 

"We  have  still  two  places  to  visit,"  Miss  Lena  explained, 
"and  there  will  likely  be  a  chance  of  finding  someone  un- 
happy." There's  old  Mrs.  Kennedy  now ;  perhaps  she  needs 
a  little  girl  to  cheer  her  up." 

Farther  down  the  village  street  stood  a  neat  little  white 
cottage  with  a  neat  little  garden  before  it.  The  path  to 
the  front  door  and  all  the  flower  beds  were  bordered  with 
white-washed  stones,  and  the  whole  place  had  the  appear- 
ance of  having  been  newly  washed,  starched  and  ironed. 
Here  lived  Miss  Sarah  Kennedy,  the  village  dressmaker, 
with  her  invalid  mother.  Miss  Sarah  was  a  tall,  sallow, 
melancholy  looking  woman,  whose  whole  life  seemed  to  be 
as  drab  as  her  appearance.  But  appearances  were  entirely 
misleading  here  as  in  many  other  cases.  A  great  self-esteem 
had  compensated  Miss  Sarah  for  the  loss  of  many  other 
things  that  make  life  pleasant,  and  she  lived  in  the  com- 
fortable conviction  that  her  home,  her  talents,  her  mother 
and  herself  were  the  envy  of  all  about  her. 

At  the  sound  of  a  rap  on  the  door  she  came  out  to  the 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  95 

little  porch,  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  a  piece  of  sewing  across 
her  arm. 

"Something  for  Sylvia,  eh?"  she  asked  when  Lena  had 
stated  her  errand.  "Well,  well,  so  she's  comin'  home  at 
last?" 

"Just  for  a  few  days  here,  and  a  few  days  down  at 
Grandma's.  Sylvia  never  stays  long  now." 

"Too  many  big  doin's  in  the  town,  I  guess.  She'll  be 
thinkin'  she's  a  great  lady  with  all  her  music-lessons.  Well, 
no  matter  where  she  goes,  she  always  comes  to  me  for  a 
dress  when  she's  home,  I  notice." 

"Sylvie  always  says  she  would  rather  get  a  dress  from 
you  than  any  Toronto  dressmaker,"  said  Lena  Sinclair 
kindly. 

Miss  Sarah  gave  a  cackling  laugh.  "She's  right.  I  don't 
think  much  o'  the  stuff  some  o'  them  city  trollops  turns  out. 
But  as  I  often  say  to  Ma,  you've  got  to  be  born  a  dress- 
maker to  do  it  right.  I  guess  I  was  born  one;  and  I 
oughtn't  to  take  any  credit  to  myself,  eh,  Ma?" 

"Who's  talkin'  out  there,  Sarah?"  cried  a  querulous  old 
voice  from  the  room  behind.  "I  hear  somebody  talkin'. 
You  never  tell  me  who  comes  to  the  house!" 

Miss  Sarah,  listening  to  the  directions  for  Sylvia  Ward's 
dress,  paid  no  attention.  Her  eyes  shone  as  her  fingers 
caressed  the  beautiful  rose  silk;  she  was  smiling  radiantly 
as  they  turned  away. 

As  they  passed  out  through  the  little  gate  in  the  hedge  of 
bright  asters,  Lena  Sinclair  gave  a  slight  shiver. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Janet;  "are  you  cold,  Miss 
Lena?" 

She  smiled.  "I  was  looking  into  my  future,  Janet.  I've 
just  had  my  fortune  read;  and  it  didn't  please  me." 

"Your  fortune  ?  What  does  that  mean  ?  Where  did  you 
read  it  ?"  asked  Janet,  all  curiosity. 

Miss  Lena  put  her  off  with  the  smile  that  Mother 
used  when  she  had  something  she  did  not  want  to  tell. 
Janet  understood,  and  did  not  ask  any  more  questions. 
But  she  wondered. 


96  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Miss  Kennedy  sings  in  her  heart,  doesn't  she?"  she  re- 
marked sagely.  "But  I'm  afraid  Granny  Kennedy  doesn't. 
I  wonder  what  would  make  her  happy.  If  I  took  Pepper 
down  to  see  her,  or  Bud's  duck,  he's  awfully  funny;  I 
wonder  if  it  would  cheer  her  up;  do  you  think  it  would, 
Miss  Lena?" 

Miss  Lena  was  not  sure.  "Perhaps  if  you  took  the  poor 
old  lady  a  magazine  to  read  or  some  of  Kirsty's  nice  jelly, 
that  would  be  better.  Sarah  might  not  like  Tommy  in  her 
clean  house."  They  were  passing  the  house  next  to  the 
dressmaker's,  and  the  lady  who  lived  in  it  was  leaning  over 
the  front  gate  to  catch  any  possible  passer-by  who  might 
talk  to  her.  There  was  no  need  to  bring  cheer  to  this 
place.  Mrs.  Murphy  was  sociably  inclined  and  given  to 
much  talk  and  laughter  over  either  the  front  gate  or  the 
back  fence. 

Since  their  son  Patsy  had  made  "good  money"  in  the 
city,  and  provided  liberally  for  his  parents,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Murphy  belonged  to  the  idle  rich ;  except  for  some  spasmodic 
housekeeping  on  the  part  of  the  lady,  and  an  occasional 
day's  work  with  the  farmers  on  the  part  of  her  husband. 
Patsy  had  build  his  parents  a  neat,  red-brick  house,  with  a 
wide  veranda ;  and  had  laid  out  a  lawn  in  front.  But  some 
of  the  front  window-panes  were  broken  and  stuffed  with 
old  newspapers  and  a  bed-quilt ;  and  the  veranda  was  used 
as  a  sort  of  store-house  for  all  the  miscellaneous  articles 
that  the  house  would  not  conveniently  hold.  And  the  pig 
had  long  ago  rooted  up  the  lawn ;  and  the  geese  had  turned 
it  into  a  promenade. 

Mrs.  Murphy  was  wrinkled  and  brown  and  incredibly 
thin;  and  looked  as  if  all  the  storms  of  life  had  beaten 
against  her.  She  wore  a  wisp  of  a  shawl  over  her  bony 
shoulders,  summer  and  winter,  and  her  sleeves  were  always 
rolled  up  to  her  sharp  elbows,  as  though  she  were  just 
in  the  midst  of  a  day's  cleaning,  which  was  very  far  from 
the  truth.  Her  front  teeth  were  gone ;  and  as  she  was  given 
to  much  loud  laughter,  her  claw-like  hand  was  always  shoot- 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  97 

ing  out  from  underneath  the  shawl  to  cover  up  her  gaping 
smile,  generally  a  moment  too  late. 

"Aw,  good  day,  now,  Lena,"  she  said  in  her  ingratiating 
tones.  "And  there's  little  Jinit,  the  darlin'.  And  how's 
your  Pa,  the  pore  body  ?  And  would  you  all  be  well,  Lena  ? 
And  how's  the  pore  old  body  foreninst?" 

"I'm  just  going  over  to  see  Uncle  Watty  now,  Mrs. 
Murphy,"  answered  the  girl.  "And  how  are  you  and  Mr. 
Murphy  ?  And  so  Patsy's  married  and  you've  got  a  daugh- 
ter-in-law." Mrs.  Murphy  winked  one  bead-like  eye  sol- 
emnly. 

"Aw,  yis,  I  have  that;  but  don't  be  blamin'  me,  now." 
She  lowered  her  voice  and  leaned  over  the  gate.  "Sure 
and  it's  the  stylish  piece  she  is.  Pore  Patsy,  he'll  find  her 
the  handful,  and  that's  no  lie.  Sure,  me  an'  Mike  we  wint 
into  town  to  see  them ;  and  didn't  we  mate  her  comin'  down 
the  strate,  walkin'  like  the  turkey-gobbler  when  he's  mad." 
Mrs.  Murphy  turned  and  went  up  and  down  the  little  path, 
carrying  herself  with  great  hauteur,  her  bony  claw  holding 
up  her  ragged  skirt  very  high.  She  looked  so  funny  that 
Janet  squealed  with  laughter;  and  seeing  she  was  appreci- 
ated, the  old  lady  went  on.  "Aw,  you  should  see  the  twisht 
to  the  tail  av  her,  whin  she  thinks  annybody's  lookin' !" 
She  winked  again,  burst  into  loud  laughter,  and  gave  Lena 
Sinclair  a  poke  with  her  long  lean  finger.  "And  who  was 
she?  Sure  she  comes  of  that  Shannon  tribe.  Her  father's 
owld  Tim  Shannon,  an'  his  father  before  him  uste  kape 
the  owld  Shannon  Hotel  Down  Below.  An'  they  were  all 
that  mane  they  would  stale  from  the  Holy  Vargin,"  and  she 
went  off  into  a  loud  cackle.  Lena  Sinclair,  mindful  of  Janet, 
turned  to  go. 

"We  must  hurry,  Mrs.  Murphy,"  she  said.  "I'll  be  late 
for  milking.  Come,  Janet." 

Janet  left  reluctantly.  She  had  never  had  a  chance  to 
cultivate  Mrs.  Murphy's  acquaintance  before;  though  she 
passed  her  place  every  day  going  to  school,  and  exchanged 
good-mornings.  She  thought  her  delightful,  and  would 
willingly  have  lingered.  But  Miss  Lena  hurried  her  away, 


98  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

fearful  that  Mrs.  Meldrum  might  have  a  rebuke  for  her 
when  Janet  repeated  the  conversation,  as  Janet  had  such  an 
uncomfortable  habit  of  doing. 

Janet  lost  no  time.  "Isn't  she  a  funny  old  lady,  Miss 
Lena?  I  like  her,  don't  you?  Who  is  the  lady  she  doesn't 
like,  that's  got  the  twist  to  her  tail?  And  what  does  she 
mean  by  the  Holy  Vargin  ?" 

"Mrs.  Murphy  is  very  kind  and  neighbourly,  Janet,"  said 
Miss  Lena  hurriedly.  "But  sometimes  she  says  things  that 
it  isn't  wise  to  repeat.  But  we  must  hurry  and  see  Uncle 
Watty.  Mother  sent  me  down  with  some  jam  for  him. 
Perhaps  he  will  let  us  in  to-day." 

They  crossed  the  road  to  the  old  tumble-down  building 
that  stood  on  the  corner.  The  old  Bradley  House  was  the 
one  antique  that  Cherry  Hill  boasted ;  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  Kellys'  and  the  Murphys'  homes,  the  only 
patch  of  desert  in  its  fair  gardens.  It  was  an  old  hotel,  a 
remnant  of  the  days  of  the  old  stage  with  its  stopping 
places.  Its  long  veranda,  which  had  sheltered  many  a 
traveller,  sagged  forward,  and  the  roof  hung  downward 
like  a  frowning  brow,  as  though  the  ancient  house  remem- 
bered sullenly  the  ugly  traffic  it  has  carried  on.  For  a 
bad  name  the  Bradley  House  had  had ;  and  now  it  was  like 
a  broken  old  man  sitting  in  poverty,  remembering  his  sins. 
The  windows  were  almost  all  smashed  long  ago,  and  the 
garden  at  the  back  was  a  tangle  of  blackened  fruit  trees, 
and  sturdy  burdocks,  with  here  and  there  a  bunch  of 
ragged-robin  or  money-musk  struggling  for  life.  The  old 
bar-room  was  still  intact,  inasmuch  as  it  did  not  leak,  and 
here  all  alone  lived  Old  Watty  Sinclair. 

The  Sinclairs  were  a  highly  respected,  wealthy  family. 
There  was  a  large  connection  of  them  living  about  Cherry 
Hill,  and  Uncle  Watty  was  the  only  blot  on  their  escutcheon. 
He  belonged  to  the  parent  stem  of  the  family  who  lived 
away  down  the  Valley  road  towards  Lake  Simcoe,  the  re- 
gion known  as  "Down  Below."  He  owned  part  of  one  of 
the  best  farms  in  the  county  and  had  dwelt  in  a  very  fine 
house  with  his  married  brother  and  his  nephew;  and  had 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  99 

very  little  to  do  and  plenty  to  live  on.  And  yet,  he  had 
left  it  all  and  come  to  live  in  the  one  dry  room  of  the 
Bradley  House,  to  eke  out  a  poverty  stricken  existence 
cobbling  shoes.  He  lived  in  ostentatious  poverty ;  he  walked 
the  twelve  miles  to  town,  while  his  nephew's  fine  cars 
stormed  past  him;  he  wore  the  oldest  and  most  ragged 
clothes;  and  in  every  way  possible  flaunted  his  extreme  in- 
digence in  the  eyes  of  the  world  and  his  scandalised  rela- 
tives. 

There  was  a  reason  for  Old  Watty's  conduct.  It  was 
pure  contrariness,  the  younger  members  all  said;  but  Old 
Watty  kept  his  counsel  and  mended  the  village  shoes  in 
stubborn  independence. 

The  school  children  had  a  half-superstitious  fear  of  the 
Old  Bradley  House  and  its  lonely  inmate.  But  as  he  was 
a  relative  of  Miss  Lena's,  Janet  felt  it  was  safe  to  go  in.  Be- 
sides, she  had  a  devouring  curiosity  to  see  past  the  old 
window  where  he  sat. 

Lena  Sinclair's  father  was  one  of  the  prosperous  brothers 
against  whom  Old  Watty  had  revolted.  She  was  the  only 
relative  who  visited  him;  and  he  took  a  great  pride  in 
showing  her  how  poor  he  was.  She  tapped  on  the  door, 
and  the  old  man  looked  up  from  the  paper  he  was  reading 
with  a  quick  glance  from  under  his  bristling  eyebrows. 
He  opened  the  door  a  meagre  foot.  By  peeping  around 
Miss  Lena's  skirt,  Janet  could  see  a  bare  high  room,  with 
an  old  bed  in  the  corner,  and  a  rusty  stove  and  a  table 
near  it. 

"How  are  you  to-day,  Uncle  Watty?"  asked  the  girl 
kindly. 

"How  am  I  to-day?"  repeated  the  old  man  in  a  high 
cracked  voice.  "I'm  just  the  same  as  I  was  the  last  time 
ye  were  down  askin'  after  me!" 

"Would  you  like  this  little  jar  of  peach  jam?  Mother 
thought " 

"Ye  needn't  be  worryin'  about  bringin'  me  fol-de-rols," 
he  interrupted.  "I'm  not  starving.  The  cook  in  this  hotel 


100  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

makes  every  thin'  jist  to  my  taste.  I  don't  get  cold  potatoes 
nor  anything  too  tony  to  eat." 

And  he  closed  the  door  in  their  faces,  and  went  back 
to  his  newspaper. 

Miss  Lena  flushed  as  she  put  the  little  jar  back  into 
her  bag  and  turned  to  go.  Janet  looked  up  at  her  with 
big  enquiring  eyes. 

"Doesn't  he  like  peach  jam?"  she  asked,  amazed.  "And 
has  he  got  somebody  to  cook  for  him  in  there,  Miss  Lena? 
I  thought  he  lived  all  alone." 

"So  he  does.  It's  just  Uncle  Watty's  queer  way  of 
talking.  He  was  angry  at  Aunt  Jennie  because  she  gave 
him  potato  salad,  once;  and  that's  one  of  the  reasons  he 
left  home." 

"I  guess  he  doesn't  sing  in  his  heart,  does  he?" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not;  and  he's  getting  old  and  the  win- 
ters are  very  hard  on  him, — poor  Uncle  Watty." 

"Nellie  likes  him.  He  comes  there  every  Monday  for 
the  'Globe';  and  he  reads  it  all  through." 

"Yes ;  but  now  he's  getting  so  lame  with  the  rheumatism 
from  living  in  that  old  damp  house  that  he  can  hardly 
walk  out  for  the  paper." 

"And  won't  he  let  anyone  go  and  visit  him?" 

"Not  any  of  his  relations." 

Janet  was  skipping  along  by  her  teacher's  side;  and  sud- 
denly took  a  higher  leap  than  ever. 

"I  know  what  I  could  do !"  she  cried.  "Nellie  and  I  could 
take  the  paper  to  him  on  Monday  mornings  when  we  go  to 
school,  couldn't  we?  Mother  wouldn't  mind.  That  would 
be  helping  him  to  sing  and  make  melody  in  his  heart  to 
the  Lord,  wouldn't  it,  Miss  Lena?" 

She  was  so  enthusiastic  that  Miss  Lena  had  not  the 
heart  to  dampen  her  ardour;  and  said  rather  weakly  that 
it  would  be  very  kind  of  the  little  girls.  But  she  had  very 
little  hope  that  they  would  be  well  received,  even  with  his 
favourite  newspaper,  the  "Globe,"  in  their  hands ;  for  no  one 
had  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  old  Bradley  House  since 


A  MAKER  OF  MUSIC  101 

Old  Watty  had  come  there  to  make  his  voluntary  exile  five 
years  before. 

But  Janet  went  dancing  home,  delighted.  The  aroma 
of  Kirsty's  spiced  plums  came  stealing  through  the  hall: 
and  there  was  her  mother's  travelling  bag  at  the  head  of  the 
stair !  She  went  running  up,  calling  to  her. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  she  cried  after  the  first  rapturous  greet- 
ings were  over.  "I  think  you  must  have  been  away  for 
years  and  years !"  She  curled  round  the  bed  post  watching 
her  mother  smooth  back  the  beautiful  waves  of  her  white 
hair,  and  arrange  the  lace  at  her  throat.  "I  think  you  look 
so  pretty,  Mother,  I  just  love  to  look  at  you,"  she  declared, 
regarding  her  with  loving  admiration. 

Her  mother  smiled,  well  pleased.  She  knew  the  value  of 
a  child's  spontaneous  compliment 

"And  what  did  you  and  Miss  Lena  do  when  you  went 
for  your  walk?" 

Janet  plunged  into  the  recital,  anxious  to  tell  it  all  in  one 
breath. 

"Softly,  darling,  just  a  little  slower.  Well,  well,  it  would 
really  be  very  nice  for  you  and  Nellie  to  take  the  poor  old 
man  his  paper,  provided  you  didn't  go  in.  And  it  was 
very  kind  of  Miss  Lena  to  take  you  with  her.  Did  she  stay 
long  here?  Did  Mr.  Balfour  come  down  and  talk  to  her?" 

Janet  told  the  whole  story  in  exact  detail  and  her  mother 
smiled.  Mrs.  Meldrum,  in  her  efficient  way,  had  a  great 
desire  to  take  all  the  people  of  her  world  and  arrange  them 
as  she  saw  they  ought  to  be  arranged;  and  as  Hugh  Bal- 
four was  her  oldest  friend's  son,  and  she  had  a  sincere 
affection  for  him,  she  felt  it  was  her  duty  to  guide  the 
young  man  carefully  in  his  possible  choice  of  a  wife.  She 
saw  very  pleasant  possibilities  ahead. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  ANNIVERSARY 

BUT,  Janet,"  her  mother  looked  at  her  in  uncompre- 
hending dismay,  "you  surely  wouldn't  like  to  be  seen 
at  tea-meeting  in  that  old  school  dress;  and  Nellie  and 
Susie  and  all  the  other  little  girls  in  -white !" 

It  was  the  great  day  of  the  anniversary  supper,  and 
Janet  had  hurried  home  from  school  to  prepare  for  it. 
As  she  was  not  to  sing  in  the  choir,  she  felt  she  might 
surely  have  the  compensation  of  appearing  in  a  plain  dark 
dress,  that  did  not  need  to  be  watched  and  guarded. 

So  it  was  something  of  a  shock  to  find  when  she  went 
upstairs,  that  her  mother  had  laid  out  on  the  bed  her  white 
dress  and  blue  silk  sash. 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  be  in  the  choir  anyway,"  she 
argued.  "And, — you  said  it  was  nice  to  be  dressed  differ- 
ent from  other  people."  Janet  sometimes  had  an  incon- 
veniently retentive  memory. 

"I  didn't  mean  for  little  girls,"  declared  her  mother, 
wondering  uncomfortably  whether  she  was  contradicting 
herself.  "Really,  Janet,  you  should  not  argue  with  Mother 
this  way  over  your  clothes.  It's  very  naughty." 

Janet  looked  guilty.  She  stood  on  one  foot  and  fitted 
the  other  into  the  pattern  in  the  carpet. 

"I — I  don't  intend  to  be  naughty,  Mother,"  she  explained 
patiently.  "But  often  you  don't  know  whether  to  let  me  do 
something  or  not,  and  when  I  argue  with  you  about  it,  it 
helps  you  make  up  your  mind,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  need  you  to  help  me  make  up  my  mind 
now;  so  run  away  at  once  and  wash  your  face  and  hands 
and  put  on  the  white  dress." 

102 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  103 

Janet  obeyed  sadly;  and  a  half-hour  later,  very  proper 
and  uncomfortable  in  her  dainty  array,  she  walked  by 
Lennie's  side  over  to  the  church. 

But  it  was  impossible  to  be  conscious  of  one's  clothes 
before  the  wonderful  vision  of  the  church.  The  young 
ladies  of  the  congregation  had  worked  all  afternoon  and 
transformed  it  into  an  autumnal  garden.  They  had  hung 
the  pulpit  and  choir  gallery  with  scarlet  vines,  and  filled 
the  windows  with  all  the  more  beautiful  trophies  of  field 
and  garden.  From  banks  of  feathery  asparagus  peeped 
golden  pumpkins,  and  purple  cabbage.  Sheaves  of  wheat, 
and  stalks  of  corn,  alternated  with  bunches  of  crimson 
dahlias  and  purple  asters. 

The  long  tables  set  out  in  the  basement  were  decorated 
with  scarlet  berries  and  trailing  vines ;  and  already  waiters 
were  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  plates  of  cake  and  pie.  Peo- 
ple were  crowding  up  into  the  church  to  leave  their  wraps, 
and  then  descending  the  narrow  stairs  to  where  the  supper 
was  laid. 

Janet  found  her  friends  immediately,  Nellie,  and  Rosie, 
and  Susie,  and  Molly,  and  they  all  rushed  to  seats  at  what 
appeared  to  be  the  most  heavily  laden  table.  And  to  Janet's 
delight  Bud  and  Tim  came  and  sat  right  opposite,  and 
Lennie  was  only  a  little  way  removed,  sitting  between  his 
mother  and  his  aunt. 

When  the  tables  were  all  filled  Mr.  Balfour  stood  at  the 
head  of  the  longest,  and  called  upon  them  all  to  stand  and 
sing  "Be  Present  at  Our  Table,  Lord."  Everyone  rose  and 
burst  into  song;  and  Janet  had  to  clap  her  hands  over  her 
mouth  to  hold  back  the  words  that  rushed  to  her  lips. 
And  for  a  few  minutes  she  had  to  try  very  hard  to  remem- 
ber that  she  was  really  singing  in  her  heart  and  thanking 
the  Lord  for  the  food  He  had  given. 

The  moment  they  were  seated,  there  arose  a  great  clatter 
of  dishes  and  voices  and  hurrying  footsteps,  and  a  strong 
aroma  of  boiling  coffee. 

The  Sunday  School  teachers  waited  upon  the  tables,  and 
to  Janet's  great  delight  Miss  Lena  was  near  her  place. 


104  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Martha  Beckett  was  there,  too,  declaring  over  and  over 
that  it  was  a  caution  what  those  boys  could  eat ;  and  it  was 
worse  than  having  the  threshing  and  a  barn-raising  all  on 
one  day. 

But  Miss  Lena  smiled  .and  let  the  boys  make  all  the  noise 
they  liked,  and  kept  piling  the  plates  with  still  more  pie 
and  cake  and  tarts  and  cookies. 

When  they  had  all  eaten  so  much  that  even  a  fresh  lemon 
pie  provoked  but  a  languid  interest  in  the  faces  of  the 
Kelly  boys ;  and  Janet  was  looking  about  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  mother  and  Mr.  Balfour,  she  heard  Miss  Lena  ex- 
claim joyfully: 

"Oh,  here's  Sylvia!     I  was  afraid  she  wasn't  coming." 

Janet  turned;  a  strange  young  lady  in  a  beautiful  white 
dress  and  a  long,  grey,  fur-trimmed  cloak  was  standing  be- 
hind her.  She  had  such  bright  dancing  eyes,  such  a  soft 
pile  of  bronze-gold  hair  and  such  a  sweet  rose-leaf  face,  that 
Janet  stared  at  her  in  frank  admiration.  She  was  surely 
the  loveliest  lady  she  had  ever  set  eyes  on. 

Then  Marjorie  Gillespie  and  Martha  Beckett  and  Miss 
Mitchell  hurried  up  to  her;  and  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  delighted  talk  and  laughter;  and  Miss  Lena  led  her 
away  to  a  table  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"Oh,  that's  Sylvia  Ward,  isn't  it,  Nellie?"  cried  Janet, 
suddenly  remembering  the  young  lady  who  sang  so  beau- 
tifully. "Oh,  my!  I  suppose  it's  no  use  thinking  I'll  ever 
be  like  her,  because  I'm  a  Silent  Singer.  And  no  matter 
how  much  you  sing  in  your  heart  to  the  Lord  you  can 
never  make  it  sound  as  lovely  as  her  singing  does." 

Nellie  was  staring  after  the  newcomer  so  absorbed  in 
her  beautiful  dress  that  she  did  not  offer  her  usual  com- 
fort. The  little  girls  were  not  the  only  ones  who  gazed 
at  her.  Sylvia  Ward  did  not  often  come  back  to  Cherry 
Hill.  Once  a  year  she  generally  put  in  an  appearance  at 
the  old  church,  and  sang  with  ever-increasing  sweetness ; 
but  her  visits  grew  shorter  each  time.  Yet  she  was  really 
a  native  of  the  village,  and  had  divided  her  childhood  days 
between  the  home  of  her  cousin,  Lena  Sinclair,  and  her 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  105 

grandmother's  place,  the  old  Sinclair  homestead  "Down 
Below."  Sylvia  was  an  orphan,  and  since  she  had  grown 
up  she  had  lived  with  her  father's  brother  in  Algonquin, 
the  neighbouring  town.  Her  uncle  was  proud  of  her 
beauty  and  her  clear  silvery  voice,  and  was  spending  all  he 
could  afford  upon  her  education. 

So  whenever  she  appeared  in  Cherry  Hill  with  the  Sin- 
clairs,  the  sight  of  her  raised  envy  and  admiration  in  every 
young  heart.  The  envy  was  perhaps  uppermost  on  this 
evening  as  she  moved  through  the  crowds  with  her  cousins ; 
it  seemed  to  all  the  girls  who  had  gone  to  school  with 
Sylvia  in  the  old  days  that  fortune  had  been  quite  too 
partial. 

As  soon  as  the  supper  was  finished  everyone  went  up  to 
the  church  for  the  programme.  The  little  choir  ranged 
themselves  in  rows  on  the  platform  for  the  opening  chorus, 
and  Janet  felt  a  pang  of  regret  as  they  burst  into  the  fa- 
miliar words : 

"We  are  scholars  in  the  Sabbath  School, 
Met  in  An-ni-ver-sa-ree !" 

Mr.  Balfour  was  the  chairman  and  from  his  seat  on  the 
platform  he  looked  down  at  Janet  and  smiled  at  her  in  a 
way  that  said  quite  plainly  that  she  was  singing  just  as  well 
as  they  were,  and  his  smile  brought  much  comfort.  And 
when  she  pranced  up  to  the  platform  to  take  part  in  a 
dialogue,  he  whispered  as  she  passed  him,  "I  almost  heard 
you  singing  in  that  last  chorus,  Jenny  Melody." 

Then  she  had  her  recitation  to  say,  and  that  brought 
her  up  beside  him  once  more.  "Little  Orphan  Annie" 
was  the  piece,  and  she  raced  through  it,  not  stopping  once 
to  draw  breath.  When  she  had  uttered  the  last  "If  you 
don't  watch  out !"  all  as  if  it  were  one  word,  she  was 
looking  so  anxiously  at  Mr.  Balfour  to  see  what  he  thought 
of  her  performance,  that  she  quite  forgot  her  bow,  and 
ran  right  to  the  edge  of  the  platform  before  she  remembered 
it.  Then  she  ran  back,  and  made  such  a  deep  one  that 
her  long  braid  fell  over  her  face.  She  did  not  mind  in 


106  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

the  least  that  everybody  laughed,  and  she  was  greatly  de- 
lighted to  see  that  Mr.  Balfour  clapped  his  hands  as  hard 
as  Bud  did;  keeping  up  a  duet  with  him  long  after  every- 
one had  stopped. 

When  the  programme  was  half  finished  Mr.  Balfour  an- 
nounced that  there  would  be  a  solo  by  Miss  Sylvia  Ward ; 
and  the  audience  broke  into  tremendous  applause.  For 
though  there  was  much  envy  of  Sylvia,  Cherry  Hill  was 
very  proud  of  her.  She  belonged  to  the  village,  and  at  heart 
everyone  liked  her.  She  was  very  lovable  and  bright  and 
free  of  manner;  and  not  even  Martha  Beckett  could  ac- 
cuse her  of  "pride." 

When  she  came  up  to  the  platform,  and  stood  beside 
the  organ,  among  the  flowers,  her  golden  hair  shining  in 
the  light  of  the  chandelier  above,  she  looked  like  a  slender 
graceful  flower  herself,  the  very  centre  of  the  garden. 

And  then  she  sang ;  and  a  great  hush  fell  over  the  church. 
It  was  a  simple  little  melody;  the  joyous  song  of  a  young 
reaper  returning  from  his  labour,  with  the  thought  of  home 
and  loving  arms  to  welcome  him  after  the  day's  work.  But 
it  did  not  matter  so  much  what  Sylvia  sang.  Ever  since 
she  was  a  little  girl  in  short  pinafores,  and  stood  on  the 
school  platform  to  sing,  unaccompanied,  on  a  Friday  after- 
noon, she  had  commanded  attention.  There  was  that  in 
her  clear  sweet  notes  that  found  the  tender  chord  in  every 
heart  and  set  it  vibrating.  Like  the  old  Scotch  songs,  she 
made  folk  smile  when  they  were  sad  and  greet  when  they 
were  glad. 

When  the  applause  at  the  end  was  dying  down,  Hugh 
Balfour  felt  a  pair  of  small  hands  clutch  his  sleeve.  Janet 
had  been  sitting  directly  beneath  him,  since  her  recitation. 
She  had  crushed  her  way  to  the  front  so  that  she  might 
sit  as  near  him  as  possible ;  and  had  brought  her  train  with 
her;  all  her  friends  who,  like  herself,  had  been  left  out  of 
the  choir.  She  had  almost  clapped  her  small  hands  off  in 
her  enthusiasm  over  the  lovely  singer ;  and,  as  Mr.  Balfour 
did  not  clap  as  hard  as  she  thought  he  should,  she  reached 
up  and  clutched  his  arm. 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  107 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour!"  she  said  in  a  loud  whisper.  "Isn't 
she  grand?  Don't  you  just  love  her?" 

He  turned  and  looked  down  at  the  little  girl;  and  there 
was  a  strange  expression  in  his  eyes ;  the  look  of  one  not 
quite  aroused  from  sleep.  Then  he  seemed  to  awake  sud- 
denly, with  a  bewildered  air. 

"Oh,  yes !"  he  exclaimed  nervously.  "She  has  a  well- 
trained  voice,  Janet." 

And  then  he  stood  up  to  announce  the  next  number; 
and  Janet  was  quite  disappointed  at  his  lack  of  enthusiasm. 

When  it  was  all  over,  Janet  was  so  tired  she  could  scarcely 
drag  herself  home.  Her  white  dress  was  a  wreck;  her 
hair  was  wild ;  and  her  sash  was  dragging  on  the  floor  be- 
hind her;  but  she  was  supremely  happy. 

"Oh,  my!"  she  declared,  as  she  staggered  up  the  steps 
of  the  Manse,  "I  never  had  such  a  good  time  in  my  life; 
and  I  thought  I'd  have  a  bad  time  because  I  had  to  wear 
this  dress  and  stay  out  of  the  choir.  But  I  guess  I  had 
too  good  of  a  time ;  'cause  I'm  so  tired  I  don't  see  how  I'll 
ever  say  my  prayers,  Mother." 

"You  shouldn't  run  about  so  much  and  take  things  so 
strenuously,  Janet,"  said  her  mother,  looking  down  at  her 
dishevelled  daughter  with  worried  eyes.  "I'm  sure  you 
weren't  still  for  one  minute  this  evening."  She  went  on 
out  to  the  kitchen  to  consult  Kirsty  about  the  breakfast; 
and  Janet  went  up  the  stairs  with  the  help  of  Mr.  Bal- 
four's  hand. 

"I've  got  so  many  people  that  I  ask  God  to  bless,  that  I 
don't  see  how  I'll  ever  get  through  them  all  to-night,"  she 
said,  looking  up  at  him  appealingly.  "There's  all  my  cousins 
and  aunts  and  uncles;  and  of  course  I  pray  a  long  time 
for  poor  Daddy;  and  there's  all  the  boys  and  girls  in  the 
school ;  and  the  people  in  the  congregation ;  and  Miss  Lena 
and  Miss  Mitchell ;  and  then  there's  that  lovely  Miss  Ward 
that  sang.  Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  don't  you  think  she  sings 
just  like  Nellie's  canary?  I  do.  It's  better  than  silent  sing- 
ing I  think,  don't  you?"  Mr.  Balfour  was  very  silent 
to-night,  and  as  absent-minded  as  her  mother  generally 


108  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

was.  Janet  yawned  as  she  stopped  at  the  door  of  her  room 
to  say  good-night. 

"Do  you  think  it  would  be  very  bad  if  I  prayed  for  every- 
body together  to-night,  except  Daddy?"  she  asked.  "Bud 
says  he  wouldn't  pray  for  everybody  separate  the  way  I  do. 
He  says  when  he  says  his  prayers  he  just  says,  'God  bless 
the  whole  Jing  Bang  of  us,  Amen,'  and  that  does  just  as 
well.  Do  you  think  it's  very  bad  to  say  'Jing  Bang5  in  your 
prayers,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

Mr.  Balfour  was  very  kind  about  it.  He  said  that  he  did 
not  think  those  were  words  that  any  nice  little  girl  would 
like  to  use  at  any  time.  But  he  was  sure  that  the  dear 
Father  in  heaven  would  understand  that  she  was  very 
tired;  and  He  would  bless  everybody  just  the  same  if  she 
really  ask  Him,  with  her  whole  heart. 

Janet  staggered  to  bed  very  grateful,  and  very  much  re- 
lieved; her  prayers  were  much  curtailed,  but  she  had  time 
to  add, — "And,  please,  bless  Miss  Sylvia  Ward,  and  make 
her  very  good  and  happy." 


CHAPTER  X 
A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY 

WHEN  Old  Watty  Sinclair  renounced  his  family  and 
his  wealth  and  went  to  live  alone  in  the  old  Bradley 
House,  he  did  so  in  something  of  the  spirit  displayed  by 
the  pious  monks  of  olden  days.  He  had  long  bewailed  the 
decadence  of  the  times;  there  was  no  more  of  the  old 
neighbourliness,  he  declared.  Each  family  strove  with 
each  other  family  in  seeing  who  could  fling  on  the  most 
style  and  fling  away  the  most  money.  Churches  were  just 
a  part  of  the  wicked  extravagance  of  the  times  with  their 
organs  and  their  carpets  and  their  choirs.  And,  as  for 
politics,  anyone  could  see  that  the  country  was  galloping 
straight  down  the  road  to  ruin,  as  any  country  must  that 
was  ridden  by  a  Tory  government. 

Two  events  finally  drove  the  old  man  to  open  revolt.  First 
his  nephew,  Tom,  with  whom  he  lived,  committed  the  un- 
pardonable crime  of  polling  a  Tory  vote.  Granted  that  the 
Tory  candidate  was  an  old  neighbour's  son ;  there  was  noth- 
ing could  excuse  a  Sinclair  becoming  a  turn-coat. 

And  right  on  top  of  this  Tory  vote,  Tom's  woman,  the 
traitor's  wife,  placed  the  last  straw  upon  the  burden  of 
luxury  and  treachery.  Old  Watty  had  controlled  himself 
when  the  family  was  dragged  from  the  comfort  of  the  old 
log  house  and  placed  in  the  dreary  grandeur  of  the  new, 
which  the  neighbours  in  derision  called  the  "Castle";  he 
had  borne  silently  the  noise  and  revelry  of  the  stylish  com- 
pany from  town ;  he  had  endured  with  only  smothered  com- 
plaints the  wearing  of  a  coat  at  meal-time ;  and  had  made 
no  outward  protest  when  the  young  folks  bought  an  expen- 
sive car  and  took  to  rushing  in  to  the  town  at  night  to 

109 


110  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

see  the  picture  shows.  But  his  soul  had  finally  risen  up 
in  complete  revolt  before  a  potato  salad,  which  Tom's 
woman  had  served  when  his  old  friend  Johnny  Gibson  had 
dropped  in  for  supper. 

The  Sinclairs  had  been  poor  in  their  pioneer  days,  Old 
Watty  admitted;  but  he  had  never  seen  the  day  that  they 
had  not  had  a  good  meal  for  a  neighbour.  And  now  style 
and  extravagance  and  fast  living  had  led  to  setting  an  old 
friend  down  to  cold  potatoes!  Cold  potatoes, — and  sour 
ones  at  that !  Before  dawn  the  next  morning,  Uncle  Watty, 
his  winter  flannel  shirts  in  the  carpet  bag  he  had  brought 
from  the  old  country,  turned  his  back  on  the  hollow  show 
of  the  Castle;  and  trudging  all  the  miles  up  to  Cherry 
Hill,  he  established  himself  in  the  one  dry  room  of  the  old 
Bradley  House.  And  though  it  was  five  years  since  Tom's 
woman  had  set  the  salad  before  him,  he  had  never  gone 
back. 

But  though  Old  Watty  renounced  his  family  and  the  world 
and  all  its  luxuries,  he  could  not  live  witrtout  his  weekly 
"Globe";  the  newspaper  which  was  the  organ  of  the  Lib- 
eral Party;  for  as  Dr.  Gillespie  said,  Old  Watty  was  more 
than  a  Liberal,  he  was  a  "Grit."  He  had  no  money  to 
subscribe  for  it;  and  he  found  a  fierce  satisfaction  in 
the  humility  of  borrowing  it.  So  every  Monday  after- 
noon he  went  hobbling  up  to  Doctor  Gillespie's  for  the  Sat- 
urday number,  which  Mrs.  Gillespie  always  put  carefully 
away  for  him.  By  the  next  Monday  he  had  it  all  read, 
even  to  the  advertisements;  and  had  re-read  the  editorials, 
and  the  latest  crimes  of  the  Tories  many  times  over. 

As  September  waned  the  rheumatism  that  had  troubled 
the  old  man  for  the  past  few  winters  began  to  return.  The 
October  days  were  warm  and  bright;  but  the  nights  were 
damp  and  misty.  One  wet  Monday  morning  he  was  sit- 
ting by  his  window  thinking  it  would  likely  be  a  bad  after- 
noon for  him  to  go  after  his  paper,  when  he  saw  a  little 
figure  run  out  from  a  group  of  children  on  the  way  to 
school,  cross  the  road,  and  tap  on  his  door.  He  arose 
frowning.  For  some  time  after  his  arrival  in  Cherry  Hill 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  111 

the  women  of  the  village  had  tormented  him  with  atten- 
tions. He  was  always  being  made  the  unwilling  recipient 
of  a  loaf  of  new  bread,  or  a  pie  or  cake,  or  a  roast 
chicken.  He  had  managed  to  repel  all  such  advances ;  and 
now  he  wondered,  grumblingly,  if  the  trouble  was  going  to 
break  out  again. 

He  opened  the  door  a  very  narrow  crack;  and  a  news- 
paper, followed  by  a  small  brown  hand,  was  thrust  in. 

"Here's  your  paper,  Mr.  Watty,"  cried  a  bright,  child- 
ish voice ;  and  the  next  moment  the  messenger  had  scampered 
away  across  the  street,  and  was  lost  to  view  in  a  crowd 
of  companions. 

When  he  had  received  his  paper  in  this  magic  way  for 
several  Mondays,  just  as  though  the  fairies  had  thrust  it 
into  his  hand,  Old  Watty  discovered  who  his  little  bene- 
factor was.  And  one  windy  afternoon,  seeing  Janet  and 
Nellie  skipping  past  on  their  way  home  from  school,  he 
tapped  on  the  window  and  beckoned  them  to  come  in. 

Nellie  held  back  in  some  fear,  but  Janet  was  very  eager 
to  accept  the  invitation ;  so.  with  Nellie  holding  on  to  her 
skirt,  she  walked  boldly  up  the  old  sloping  veranda  floor 
and  into  the  Bradley  House. 

The  room  that  old  Watty  occupied  had  once  been  the 
bar-room.  It  was  not  very  clean  nor  comfortable,  and  had 
an  unpleasant  smell  of  leather.  There  was  an  old  rusty 
kitchen  stove  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  a  warm  fire 
in  it;  an  old  cupboard  in  the  corner,  and  a  four-post  bed 
with  a  straw  tick  on  it.  A  table  and  a  couple  of  chairs, 
and  the  old  man's  work  bench  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  room. 

Janet  and  Nellie  seated  themselves  upon  a  box  that  lay 
near  the  stove,  and  looked  around  with  absorbed  interest. 
The  old  man  limped  towards  the  cupboard  and  took  down 
from  a  shelf  a  small  paper  bag.  He  fumbled  in  it,  and 
finally  handed  them  each  a  half-dozen  peppermint  drops. 

This  was  a  splendid  opening  to  their  visit;  and,  Janet's 
tongue  being  loosed,  she  poured  out  a  stream  of  ques- 
tions. Did  he  like  living  here?  Wasn't  it  lovely  to  have 


112  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

such  a  big  house  to  one's  self?  How  many  rooms  were 
there  in  the  Bradley  House?  Was  there  any  furniture 
in  them?  Wouldn't  it  be  a  lovely  place  to  have  all  your 
cousins  and  aunties  visit  you  at  the  same  time?  Where 
did  that  door  lead  to?  Were  there  as  many  rooms  up- 
stairs ? 

"Some  day  maybe  you  can  come  in  and  I'll  let  ye  see 
all  over  it,"  he  promised;  and  Janet  and  Nellie  went  away 
very  much  pleased  with  their  visit.  This  was  only  the  be- 
ginning of  many  calls.  Having  once  been  invited,  Janet 
felt  that  she  would  always  be  welcome,  and  formed  the 
habit  of  dropping  in.  Old  Watty  always  had  some  pepper- 
mints in  his  paper  bag  in  the  cupboard;  and  there  were 
certain  wide  echoing  rooms  in  which  he  let  her  and  Nellie 
run  and  play  Hop  Scotch  on  rainy  days.  Finally  they 
explored  them  all,  and  the  Bradley  House  with  its  great 
empty  spaces,  its  big  sheds,  and  its  jungle  of  a  garden  at 
the  back,  proved  a  wonderfully  interesting  play-ground. 

For  a  time  Mrs.  Meldrum  was  a  little  disturbed  over  this 
new  acquaintance.  Old  Mr.  Sinclair  was  highly  respected 
in  spite  of  his  queer  ways;  but  she  felt  he  was  scarcely 
better  than  the  Kellys  as  a  companion  for  Janet. 

"I  wish  you  and  Nellie  wouldn't  go  into  the  Bradley 
House  after  school,  Janet.  You  must  come  straight  home. 
You  must  be  a  trouble  to  the  poor  old  man." 

"Oh,  no,  we're  not,  Mother.  Old  Watty  likes  us;  he 
said  he  did." 

"Janet,  you  mustn't  call  Mr.  Sinclair,  Old  Watty.  It's 
very  rude." 

"But  that's  what  everybody  calls  him,  Mother,"  reasoned 
Janet.  "Mr.  Balfour  calls  him  Old  Watty;  and  so  does 
Dr.  Gillespie." 

"They  are  grown  men,  and  you  are  only  a  child;  and 
you  must  show  more  respect  for  age.  You  must  always  call 
him  Mr.  Sinclair  after  this,"  and  her  mother  turned  to  her 
reading  again. 

"But,  Mother,"  Janet  had  not  given  up  the  argument, 
"nobody'll  know  who  I  mean.  I  call  Miss  Lena's  father 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  113 

Mr.  Sinclair;  and  there's  Mr.  Sinclair  away  up  the  Town 
Line;  and  there's  Katie  Sinclair's  father;  and  there's  Old 
Grandpa  Sinclair  that  lives  in  the  Castle  Down  Below; 
and  I  don't  see  how  we'd  ever  get  along  with  another  one." 

Her  mother  looked  up  from  her  book  to  find  that  Janet 
was  still  talking. 

"Couldn't  I  call  him  Mr.  Watty?"  she  asked,  "I  don't 
think  anyone  in  the  congregation  would  think  that  was 
rude?"  and  her  mother  out  of  sheer  weariness  yielded. 

Mrs.  Meldrum  had  a  comfortable  theory  that,  except  for 
going  to  and  from  school,  her  little  daughter  was  kept 
rigidly  removed  from  the  village  rabble.  Nellie  Gillespie 
or  Lennie  Caldwell  were  the  only  children  who  ever  came 
to  the  Manse  to  play  with  Janet.  But  without  actually  dis- 
obeying orders,  Janet  managed  to  add  to  her  social  list. 
There  was  a  very  convenient  hole  in  the  back  fence  of  the 
Manse  garden,  and  from  it  a  well-worn  path  ran  around 
the  back  of  the  church  into  Old  Gibbie  Gibson's  pasture 
field,  and  finally  turned  in  at  the  rear  of  the  last  and  most 
dilapidated  woodshed  on  the  Kelly  estate.  Janet  had  long 
ago  learned  that  if  she  asked  her  mother  if  she  might  go 
over  to  the  Kellys  to  play,  she  would  meet  with  a  firm 
refusal  which  no  arguments  could  mitigate.  Also,  if  she 
asked  that  the  Kellys  might  be  allowed  to  come  and  play 
in  her  yard  the  result  would  be  equally  hopeless.  But  on 
Saturday  mornings  she  had  found  that  a  request  to  be  al- 
lowed to  run  and  play  beside  the  creek  in  Old  Gibbie  Gib- 
son's pasture  field  behind  the  church  almost  always  met 
with  a  reluctant  permission.  And  thither  came  all  the 
Kellys,  even  to  baby  Cornelius,  trundled  along  in  a  home- 
made cart ;  and  it  was  then  that  Janet  had  the  grandest  time 
of  the  whole  week. 

Whenever  the  family  were  ready  to  move  out  to  the 
pasture  field  Bud  always  came  to  the  convenient  hole  in  the 
fence  and  whistled  a  perfect  imitation  of  the  goldfinch's 
call ;  and  when  that  sweet  sound  came  floating  up  through 
the  orchard  trees  Janet  was  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind. 

On  this    lovely   October   Saturday   morning,   when   the 


114  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

argument  over  Old  Watty's  title  had  been  settled,  Janet 
ran  out  for  the  fifth  time  to  listen  for  the  summons.  She 
had  performed  a  great  many  little  duties  between  excur- 
sions to  the  back  door.  She  tidied  her  room ;  helped  Kirsty 
with  the  breakfast  dishes;  dusted  the  parlour  for  her 
mother ;  wrote  a  long  letter  to  her  father ;  and  even  sat  for 
five  minutes  untangling  her  thread,  preparatory  to  taking 
a  stitch  in  the  perennial  Saturday  towel ;  and  still  the  gold- 
finch was  mute.  Feeling  that  the  time  would  never  pass, 
she  made  an  excursion  upstairs  to  see  if  the  flag  was  hung 
out.  When  she  could  coax  Mr.  Balfour  out  to  play  ball  in 
the  back  pasture,  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  that 
could  add  to  her  felicity.  But  the  study  door  remained  in- 
exorable this  morning.  Mr.  Balfour  was  evidently  late 
with  his  sermon. 

Janet  tried  hard  to  sing  away  her  disappointment. 

"I  think  a  congregation  is  a  great  trouble,  don't  you, 
Mother?"  she  asked.  "It  keeps  Mr.  Balfour  so  busy  he 
can't  play  ball  or  stay  home  any  more." 

Her  mother  smiled,  one  of  those  smiles  which  Janet 
knew  meant  she  had  a  secret. 

"You  must  remember  that  Mr.  Balfour  is  young,  dear; 
and  can't  stay  home  all  the  time." 

"But  he  must  be  awfully  tired  going  up  to  the  Sinclairs, 
Mother.  He's  been  up  to  Miss  Lena's  three  nights  this 
week;  and  he  took  Miss  Sylvia  Ward  to  her  grandpa's 
Down  Below;  and  then  went  for  her  again  and  brought 
her  back ;  and  Sam  Sinclair  has  a  car  of  his  own.  Martha 
Beckett  says  that  the  Sinclairs  ought  to  adopt  Mr.  Bal- 
four. Why  should  they,  Mother?  People  don't  adopt 
grown-up  folks,  do  they?  And  he  belongs  to  us  anyway, 
doesn't  he?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  this,  except  an  admonition  to  be 
careful  not  to  repeat  what  Martha  Beckett  or  any  of  the 
girls  said ;  and  Janet  went  away  unsatisfied,  all  the  more  so 
because  of  her  mother's  incomprehensible  remark. 

"I  do  hope  it  isn't  the  wrong  one." 

It  was  very  difficult  to  accomplish  anything  with  one 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  115 

eye  on  the  study  door,  and  one  ear  down  at  the  end  of 
the  back  yard;  so  Janet  finally  went  out  to  investigate  the 
reason  for  Bud's  absence.  A  whole  Saturday  without  the 
Kellys  was  an  arid  waste.  She  ran  down  the  orchard  aisle, 
in  the  warm  October  sunlight,  and  stopped  short  at  the  hole 
in  the  fence.  There  was  Bud's  red  head,  just  on  the  other 
side  of  it 

Janet  gave  a  squeal  of  joy.  "Oh,  Bud!  Where  are  the 
rest  ?  Aren't  you  going  to  play  ?  Why  didn't  you  whistle  ?" 

Bud  was  seated  disconsolately  upon  a  stone  just  outside 
Janet's  yard.  "Ma's  washin',"  he  announced  gloomily. 

Janet's  face  fell.  Mrs.  Kelly  did  not  wash  often,  for- 
tunately ;  but,  about  once  a  month,  and  always  on  a  Satur- 
day, a  fever  of  cleanliness  seized  her,  when  everything  in 
the  shape  of  raiment  had  to  be  put  into  the  tub;  and  at 
the  same  time  the  family  were  put  through  a  sort  of  mental 
cleansing  process  in  which  their  mother  told  them  all  their 
sins  and  shortcomings  at  great  and  terrifying  length.  So 
the  news  that  the  monthly  cleaning  was  on,  was  very  bad 
indeed.  Janet  looked  her  sympathy. 

"What's  Molly  doing?"  she  asked. 

"Helpin'  Ma ;  an'  Rosie's  mindin'  Corny  and  Jimsey ;  an' 
Tim's  carryin'  water." 

It  occurred  to  Janet  that  if  Mrs.  Kelly  would  try  sing- 
ing in  her  heart  it  would  ease  the  domestic  situation  greatly. 
So  she  rehearsed  her  experience  as  a  member  of  the  choir 
inaudible;  and  suggested  his  mother  trying  the  remedy. 
"It's  awfully  good  for  everybody,"  she  declared  enthusi- 
astically ;  as  though  it  were  a  patent  medicine  and  she  the 
agent.  "It  makes  you  happy  even  when  everything  goes 
wrong,  if  you  sing  inside  you." 

"Sing  inside  you?"  Bud's  face  wrinkled  up  so  that  the 
freckles  all  ran  together.  "Where?" 

"Oh,  away  down  in  your  stomach.  If  you  are  singing 
down  there  all  the  time,  and  not  out  loud,  it  makes  you 
feel  good." 

"I'd  rather  have  a  hunk  o'  pie  or  some  ice  cream  in 
my  stomach,"  declared  the  materialistic  one.  "But  I  wish 


116  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Ma'd  try  it,  whatever  it  is.     You  ast  her  some  day. 
wish   she'd   scold,   'way   down  in   her   stomach,   where  I 
couldn't  hear  her." 

The  majority  of  the  young  Kellys  met  the  eruption  of 
washday  philosophically;  for  when  everything  was  in  its 
customary  dirt  and  confusion  Mrs.  Kelly  was  a  kind 
and  indulgent  mother.  But  Bud  was  a  warm-hearted  little 
fellow,  passionately  fond  of  his  mother;  and  her  monthly 
aberrations  hurt  his  sensitive  soul. 

Janet  sat  down  beside  him  in  the  opening  in  the  fence. 
It  was  a  terrible  thing  to  have  a  mother  who  scolded,  and 
she  had  no  comfort  to  offer. 

They  looked  up  into  the  crimsoning  trees  and  watched  the 
birds  gather  for  their  autumn  journey.  Almost  all  the  sum- 
mer singers  were  gone  away;  but  the  robins  whirled  about 
in  groups,  uttering  their  quick  clear  call.  The  flickers, 
their  golden  lined  wings  outspread,  flashed  about  the  trees, 
great  flocks  of  noisy  grackles  went  sailing  past;  and  over 
in  the  pasture  field  the  crows  were  congregating  to  dis- 
cuss plans  for  winter.  There  was  one  of  their  intimate 
friends  left,  a  little  grey  song  sparrow,  that  sat  in  the  maple 
tree  above  their  heads  and  gave  forth  his  pretty  carol  as 
though  it  were  June  instead  of  October.  Bud  listened, 
looked  up  and  laughed. 

"Hear  him,  Janet!  Hear  what  the  funny  little  chap's 
sayin'?  I  bet  the  folks  ain't  washin'  at  his  house  or  he 
wouldn't  be  singin'  about  a  'Happy  Day.' " 

"Oh,  what's  he  saying?'  asked  Janet  eagerly.  Bud  could 
never  understand  why  anyone  could  not  make  out  the  birds' 
songs.  They  were  plainer  to  him  than  his  own  language. 

"Why,  don't  you  hear  him  ?  Listen ;  that's  what  he  says, — 
'Happy  day !  Happy  day !  Haw,  Haw !  Hear  me  say.'  " 

Janet  repeated  the  little  song,  over  and  over,  and  they 
laughed  so  loud  the  little  composer  flew  away.  Then  a  shy 
peewee,  in  the  grove  at  the  end  of  the  pasture,  where  the 
stream  came  out  of  the  hills,  set  up  its  soft  tender  plead- 
ing note, — "Dear-ie,  Dear-ie."  Bud  repeated  the  pretty 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  117 

whistle,  and  there  came  a  soft  answer,  each  time  a  little 
nearer. 

Janet  sat  listening,  breathless,  to  the  little  antiphonal 
song,  until  the  shy,  wild  singer  was  right  over  Bud's  head 
answering  sweetly.  Then  there  came  past  a  wild  whirr 
of  wings;  a  great  cloud  of  swallows  coming  up  from  the 
stream,  calling  to  each  other,  and  the  little  grey  singer  shot 
away. 

Bud  arose  slowly.  "I  gotta  get  back,"  he  announced 
sadly,  "or  she'll  be  after  me!" 

"Wait,"  cried  Janet  with  a  sudden  inspiration,  "I'll  go 
with  you,  and  we'll  see  if  Rosie  can  come  over  and  bring 
the  baby ;  and  we'll  play  behind  the  church.  Mother  said  I 
could  go  out  into  the  pasture." 

This  was  some  comfort  and  Bud  cheered  up  a  little. 
Janet  darted  back  to  a  basket  of  apples  that  Kirsty  had 
set  out  on  the  back  porch,  and  selecting  two  of  the  biggest 
and  reddest  brought  them  to  him.  Then  they  crawled 
through  the  hole  in  the  fence  and  together  ran  around 
behind  the  church.  Away  beyond  the  pasture  field  Bud's 
chickens,  now  grown  to  an  independent  life,  were  speeding 
over  the  stubble  field,  gleaning  their  food,  while  poor  Tom 
waddled  slowly  after  them,  loking  back  longingly  towards 
the  creek. 

The  children  climbed  upon  a  section  of  the  fence  between 
two  old  sheds,  that  stood  at  the  rear  of  the  Kelly  yard, 
and  looked  down  into  its  disorderly  desert.  Rosie  and  the 
little  ones  were  nowhere  in  sight.  They  had  wisely  taken 
themselves  beyond  the  waves  of  the  family  washing.  The 
tub  was  set  out  on  the  rotten  old  platform  at  the  rear 
of  the  house ;  and  the  tall  thin  figure  of  Mrs.  Kelly  was  go- 
ing up  and  down  before  it  in  clouds  of  steam;  while  from 
out  of  them  came  bursts  of  shrill  vituperation,  like 
lightning  from  a  storm  cloud.  The  steady  swish  of  the 
clothes  in  and  out  of  the  water  added  not  a  little  to  the 
illusion  of  rain.  Mrs.  Kelly  always  washed  in  a  domestic 
thunder  storm,  which  even  her  husband  sought  to  escape. 
Ordinarily  she  was  a  kind  and  loving  mother,  but  the 


118  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

cares  of  a  large  family  on  a  small  and  uncertain  income, 
and  a  husband  who  went  to  the  "Shanties"  in  winter  and 
drank  most  of  the  proceeds  of  his  work  in  summer,  had 
naturally  not  helped  to  mellow  a  temper  none  to  mild.  But 
it  was  only  on  wash  days  that  it  really  broke  all  bounds. 
When  all  the  family  clothing  had  been  worn  over  and 
over  again  till  there  was  no  way  out  of  the  difficulty  ex- 
cept a  washing;  it  seemed  that  Mrs.  Kelly  piled  all 
her  life's  grievances  upon  the  top  of  the  soiled  pile,  and, 
surveying  them,  her  spirit  rose  up  in  rebellion.  And  then 
woe  betide  the  man  or  child  who  crossed  her  path. 

To  Janet  the  sound  of  scolding  was  terrible;  more  ter- 
rible still  was  the  sight  of  Molly's  little  stooped  figure  mov- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  kitchen  door,  right  in  the  heart  of 
the  storm.  Mrs.  Kelly  shrieked  to  Tim  to  hurry  with  the 
water,  which  he  was  drawing  up  out  of  the  cistern;  and 
at  the  same  time  demanded  threateningly  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  Rosie  and  Bud.  As  she  raised  her  head  to  glare 
about,  Janet  and  Bud  with  one  accord  dropped  down  be- 
hind the  fence;  and  Bud  slipped  hopelessly  into  the  yard, 
while  Janet  strayed  disconsolately  back  to  the  Manse. 

She  peeped  into  the  kitchen,  on  her  return,  to  see  if 
there  was  a  chance  of  coaxing  a  cookie  from  Kirsty.  The 
kitchen  floor  had  just  received  its  Saturday  scrubbing; 
and  Kirsty,  in  a  clean  white  apron,  was  sitting  at  the 
shining  table  reading  her  Bible.  Janet  drew  back  hastily  ; 
when  the  kitchen  floor  had  just  been  scrubbed  it  was  un- 
safe for  anyone  to  enter  unbidden;  but  when  combined 
with  that,  Kirsty  sat  and  read  her  Bible;  the  fool  who 
rushed  in  took  his  life  in  his  hands. 

She  wandered  about  wondering  how  she  could  put  in  a 
Budless  Saturday;  and  finally,  with  a  great  sigh  of  re- 
nunciation, went  out  to  the  orchard  with  Pepper;  and 
evoking  Leola  from  the  shadows,  prepared  to  put  in  the 
day  with  her  rather  unsubstantial  company.  But  she  could 
not  forget  the  drooping  figure  of  Molly,  moving  in  and  out 
of  the  kitchen,  a  target  for  the  fiery  darts  of  her  mother's 
temper.  She  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she  could 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  119 

do  something  to  make  her  sing  and  make  melody  in  her 
heart. 

Mr.  Balfour  came  out  to  the  orchard  for  a  few  minutes' 
play  before  dinner;  and  when  they  had  exhausted  themselves 
racing  about,  they  sat  down  on  the  back  steps  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  Janet  told  him  about  Molly  and  the  washing, 
and  her  longing  to  do  something  to  make  Molly's  life  a 
little  happier. 

"I  wish  Mrs.  Kelly  wouldn't  wash  any  more,  ever 
again,"  she  declared  at  the  end  of  the  recital.  "Oh,  Mr. 
Balfour,  don't  you  wish  that  everyone  in  the  world  could 
sing  in  their  hearts?" 

He  looked  up  at  the  little  girl  perched  on  the  railing 
of  the  steps  like  a  restless  bird  upon  a  branch,  and  his 
eyes  were  very  kind.  She  was  expressing  the  longing  of  all 
unselfish  souls. 

"Each  one  of  us  can  do  our  little  part  to  make  some- 
body sing,"  he  said.  "You  watch  Molly  and  see  if  you 
can't  find  some  way  to  make  her  happy.  You  are  sure 
to  find  a  way  if  you  look  long  enough,  and  carefully 
enough." 

And,  sure  enough,  the  next  week  the  opportunity  to 
help  Molly  to  be  very  happy  came;  just  as  Mr.  Balfour  had 
said  it  would. 

Every  week  the  Fourth  Class  had  an  essay  to  write.  The 
subject  was  given  out  on  a  Friday  afternoon  before  school 
was  dismissed,  and  the  essays  had  to  be  handed  in  the  fol- 
lowing Wednesday  morning.  Then  Miss  Mitchell  examined 
them  and  handed  them  back  on  the  next  Friday,  pointing  out 
their  good  and  bad  qualities. 

As  Janet  and  Nellie  and  Bud  were  still  in  the  Third 
Book,  they  had  no  essays  to  write,  and  yet  Janet  was 
very  much  interested  in  them,  for  Lennie  was  in.  the 
Junior  Fourth  Book,  being  fully  twelve,  and  he  was  always 
in  a  panic  on  Tuesday  evening  because  his  essay  was  never 
ready.  He  often  came  to  the  Manse  and  begged  that  Janet 
might  be  allowed  to  come  over,  and  then  he  got  such  help 


120  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

as  she  could  give  him,  for  Janet  had  a  gift  with  her  pen 
if  none  with  her  voice. 

But  Janet's  chief  interest  arose  from  the  fact  that  Molly 
very  often  won  first  place  in  the  weekly  competition.  Her 
most  dangerous  rival  was  Aggie  Wright,  the  biggest  girl 
in  the  Fourth  Class,  who  wrote  essays  filled  with  words 
of  learned  length  and  thundrous  sound;  and  Janet  was  al- 
ways filled  with  anxiety  on  the  morning  the  essays  were 
returned,  lest  Aggie  get  ahead  of  her  favourite.  So,  on  the 
next  Wednesday  morning  Janet  was  very  much  excited, 
when,  as  Miss  Mitchell  collected  the  papers,  she  made  the 
thrilling  announcement:  "I  am  going  to  give  prizes  for 
the  three  best  essays  this  week.  I  didn't  tell  you  before, 
because  I  wanted  the  winner  to  be  one  who  always  takes 
pains;  and  I  did  not  want  your  extra  effort.  I  am  going 
to  send  these  essays  in  to  town  to  the  Principal  of  the 
school  there.  He  is  going  to  examine  them  and  say  whose 
is  the  best,  and  next  Friday  afternoon  I  shall  tell  you  the 
result  and  give  the  prizes.  They  will  be:  two  dollars  for 
first  prize,  one  dollar  for  second,  and  fifty  cents  for  third 
prize.  Fourth  Class,  take  your  seats.  Third  Class,  for- 
ward." 

The  Fourth  Class  fell  into  its  seat  overcome  with  estonish- 
ment.  Such  a  storm  of  whispering  arose  from  the  back 
rows  that  Miss  Mitchell  made  a  further  announcement: 
anyone  who  spoke  from  now  till  four  o'clock  should  stay 
in  half  an  hour;  and  so  the  Fourth  Class  was  driven  to  tele- 
graphic communication,  notes,  and  the  deaf-and-dumb 
alphabet  to  express  its  feelings. 

Lennie  belonged  to  those  to  whom  the  announcement  had 
been  the  echo  of  the  saddest  words  of  tongue  or  pen ;  when 
he  reflected  that  he  might  have  been  in  the  race  for  the 
prize.  But  an  untoward  fate  had  made  him  hand  in  a  hur- 
ried, badly-written  essay  that  morning.  He  bewailed  his 
misfortune  at  great  length  to  Janet  and  Nellie  as  he  walked 
sedately  home  from  school,  stepping  along  the  sidewalk, 
while  the  little  girls  skipped  through  the  dust  of  the  street. 

"I  didn't  think  Miss  Mitchell  would  do  a  thing  like  that," 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  121 

he  complained.  "And  two  dollars  for  a  prize!  Oh,  girls, 
just  think  of  all  the  things  you  could  get  with  two  dollars !" 

"There's  an  advertisement  in  a  paper  Fred  takes,"  said 
Nellie,  not  realising  that  she  was  adding  to  poor  Lennie's 
remorse,  "and  it  says  that  if  you  pay  a  dollar  down,  no 
a  dollar  and  a  half, — and  some  more  after  that,  and  get 
some  subscribers  for  the  paper,  you  can  get  a  Shetland 
pony !" 

Lennie  was  almost  in  tears;  but  Janet  had  not  as  much 
sympathy  to  give  him  as  usual;  she  danced  away  home  to 
tell  Mr.  Balfour  the  news  that  Molly  was  almost  sure  to 
get  a  prize. 

The  very  next  day  Miss  Mitchell  startled  the  school  again 
with  another  thrilling  announcement.  They  were  to  post- 
pone the  prize  giving  until  a  week  from  Friday.  There 
would  be  some  grown-up  person  of  importance  appointed 
to  present  the  prizes;  and  they  would  use  that  afternoon 
as  a  sort  of  visitors'  day ;  and  the  pupils  might  invite  their 
parents  to  come.  There  would  be  a  programme;  and  any- 
one who  would  give  a  recitation  or  sing  a  song  was  to  wait 
after  school  and  see  her. 

It  was  well  that  she  did  not  tell  all  this  until  just  before 
school  was  dismissed;  for  it  was  impossible  that  anyone 
could  keep  from  whispering  under  such  a  strain.  Every- 
one, but  the  big  boys  like  Tim  Kelly  and  Spotty  Cameron, 
waited  to  ask  if  they  might  take  part  in  the  programme; 
and  when  finally  everyone  started  home  the  one  topic  ot 
conversation  among  the  girls  of  the  Fourth  Class  was, 
what  should  they  wear? 

"I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  sit  with  Molly  Kelly,"  com- 
plained Aggie  Wright,  as  they  came  straying  down  the 
stony  path  towards  the  road.  "She  wears  such  a  dreadful 
dress.  Just  look  at  her  now.  Ain't  she  awful?" 

Janet  liked  Aggie  Wright  only  mildly.  She  was  quite  the 
biggest  girl  in  school ;  and  wore  dresses  down  to  her  ankles ; 
and  put  up  her  hair  a  new  way  every  week ;  and  did  not  like 
little  girls  at  all.  Janet  sometimes  felt  that  if  Aggie  was 


122  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

not  a  Pickin'  and  Leavin'  she  certainly  acted  like  one;  and 
she  was  disposed  to  put  her  on  the  bottom  shelf. 

Janet  paid  little  attention  to  clothes,  either  her  own  or 
other  people's;  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  noticed 
that  Molly's  dress  was  not  like  the  other  girls'.  It  was  a 
hybrid  affair,  made  from  the  faded  skirt  of  her  summer 
dress,  sewed  to  a  blouse  of  a  dark  heavy  material.  Molly 
was  walking  alone  ahead  of  the  other  girls,  and  Janet 
ran  after  her  and  linked  her  arm  in  hers. 

She  gave  her  arm  a  squeeze  that  was  almost  painful. 
"I  just  bet  you'll  get  the  prize,  Molly,  so  I  do!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  wear  on  Friday,  Janet?"  asked 
Nellie,  who  was  following  close  on  her  heels. 

Janet  had  not  given  the  subject  a  thought.  "I  don't 
know ;  a  dress  I  guess,"  she  answered  vaguely.  "I  hope 
Mother  won't  make  me  wear  my  Sunday  dress." 

"Why,  we're  all  going  to  wear  our  Sunday  dresses,"  de- 
clared Jessie  Cameron,  who  was  one  of  the  competitors 
for  the  prize. 

"All  us  big  girls  in  the  Fourth  Class'll  have  to  dress  up ; 
but  it  doesn't  matter  about  kids  like  Nellie  and  Janet," 
said  Aggie  Wright  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  turned  to  go 
down  the  road  towards  her  home. 

"Well,  it  does  so  matter,"  cried  Nellie  indignantly.  "I'm 
going  to  wear  my  white  serge  if  Mother'll  let  me,  and 
you're  goin'  to  wear  your  blue,  aren't  you,  Kit?" 

Kitty  Gillespie  was  a  thoughtful  girl  for  her  thirteen 
short  years,  and  she  glanced  at  Molly's  downcast  face,  and 
Rosie's  ragged  cotton  dress,  and  said  nothing.  Nellie  fol- 
lowed her  glance,  and  putting  her  fair  curls  up  close  to 
Janet's  rumpled  brown  head,  she  whispered: 

"Say,  Janet,  Molly  and  Rosie  haven't  any  better  dresses 
than  the  ones  they've  got  on.  Isn't  that  awful  ?" 

Just  then  Cornelius  Kelly,  who  had  run  away  from  home 
by  crawling  under  the  gate,  and  was  staggering  down  the 
middle  of  the  street  in  a  joyous  cloud  of  dust,  sighted  his 
sisters  approaching,  and  greeted  them  with  a  welcoming 
whoop.  Corny  was  a  jolly,  noisy,  rowdy  of  a  baby,  the 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  123 

joy  of  his  sisters'  hearts.  The  Kelly  girls  and  Janet  left 
their  companions  and  ran  to  meet  him  with  cries  of  de- 
light; and  in  the  rapture  of  his  presence,  the  troublesome 
question  of  clothes  was  forgotten  for  the  moment. 

"I  just  know  you'll  get  the  prize,  Molly,"  Janet  declared 
again,  as  she  reluctantly  turned  homeward ;  but  Molly  shook 
her  head  above  Corny's  curls. 

"No,  I  hope  I  don't.  I  won't  go  to  school  on  Friday, 
if  the  girls  all  dress  up  fine."  Janet  was  dismayed  to  see 
the  tears  in  Molly's  patient  eyes.  Rosie,  too,  looked  at  her 
In  surprise.  For  Rosie  was  like  Janet  and  took  no  thought 
for  her  raiment. 

All  that  evening  Janet's  busy  mind  returned  again  and 
again  to  the  thought  of  Molly's  troubles,  and  before  morn- 
ing she  had  discovered  a  fine  scheme  by  which  she  could  be 
saved  the  humiliation  of  appearing  the  only  shabby  one 
in  a  class  of  Sunday  dresses. 

She  disclosed  her  plan  to  Mr.  Balfour  at  the  breakfast 
table,  and  he  approved  highly.  "That's  a  fine  idea,  Jenny 
Melody,"  he  cried.  "And  it  will  make  all  the  other  girls 
sing  in  their  hearts,  too,  as  well  as  Molly;  because  people 
are  always  happy  when  they  are  doing  a  kindness  to  some- 
one else." 

When  Janet  went  to  school  the  next  morning,  she  avoided 
the  Kellys  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  She  raced  past 
their  gate,  unseen  even  by  Bud,  and  dashed  into  the  Gilles- 
pie  yard. 

"I've  got  the  loveliest  beautifulest  idea  in  the  wide  world," 
she  shouted.  "Wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  all  the  girls  in  the 
school  would  wear  their  old  dresses  on  Friday,  and  then 
Molly  wouldn't  feel  bad  if  she  did  get  the  prize  ?" 

Nellie  did  not  look  as  if  she  considered  it  a  lovely  idea 
at  all;  but  Kitty's  eyes  were  very  kind.  She  looked  up 
the  street  at  Molly's  stooped,  drab  figure  coming  out  of  the 
Kelly  gate,  with  Rosie's  ragged,  greenish-yellow  cotton 
frisking  ahead. 

"Aw,  yes,  I  think  it  would  be  lovely,  Janet,"  she  said. 
"I'll  ask  the  girls,  and  see  what  they  say." 


124  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

As  soon  as  prayers  were  over,  Kitty  whispered  the  plan 
to  her  chum,  Jessie  Cameron.  She  was  rather  surprised  at 
the  ready  response.  She  did  not  know  that  Jessie's  mother 
had  discouraged  the  idea  of  the  Sunday  dress  parade;  and 
she  found  it  very  easy  to  fall  in  with  the  generous  scheme. 

At  recess  the  two  girls  laid  the  plan  before  their  class- 
mates, while  Molly  was  otherwise  engaged.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  discussion,  and  more  dissension  at  first,  but 
finally  all  the  girls,  with  one  exception,  consented  to  forego 
all  extraordinary  finery  on  Friday  for  the  sake  of  Molly 
Kelly's  feelings. 

The  one  exception  was  Aggie  Wright,  and  Aggie  had 
much  more  to  sacrifice  than  the  other  girls.  She  was  the 
only  child  of  well-to-do  parents ;  and  her  wardrobe  was  the 
wonder  of  Cherry  Hill  school.  At  present  she  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  marvellous  new  dress  which  only  a  favoured 
few  had  seen.  It  was  a  bright  pink  silk,  trimmed  with 
white  lace,  and  had  been  given  to  her  by  a  foolish  mother 
on  her  birthday.  Aggie  had  had  no  opportunity  to  wear  it 
as  yet;  and  she  wanted  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world  to  wear  it  on  Friday.  She  had  a  deeper  reason  than 
personal  vanity.  For  though  Aggie  Wright  was  fat  and 
broad  and  stodgy  she  was  exceedingly  romantic.  She  had 
read  a  great  many  novels  in  which  the  heroine  was  always 
a  lovely  creature  of  sixteen,  with  whom  a  rich  young  Lord 
or  Duke  fell  madly  in  love.  In  her  dreams  Aggie  was  always 
the  lovely  young  creature;  while  various  persons  played 
the  part  of  the  gallant  nobleman.  Just  now  he  was  in- 
carnated in  the  person  of  the  young  minister  of  Knox 
Church.  Aggie  was  fifteen  and  felt  sure  anyone  would 
think  she  was  eighteen  to  look  at  her.  And  there  was  no 
doubt  that  Mr.  Balfour  would  prefer  her  bright  youth  to 
such  old  maids  as  Martha  Beckett  and  Lena  Sinclair  who 
were  always  running  after  him;  and  who,  everyone  knew, 
must  both  have  reached  the  hopeless  age  of  twenty-five  at 
least. 

So  Aggie  was  guarding  a  secret  rosy  hope  in  her  flutter- 
ing heart.  Miss  Mitchell  had  said  Someone  would  present 


A  LESSON  IN  HARMONY  125 

the  prizes.  And  rumour  had  it  that  he  would  be  the  some- 
one. She  was  reasonably  sure  of  getting  a  prize, — she 
might  indeed  get  first,  and  if  she  received  it  from  his 
hands,  dressed  in  her  pink  silk!  Aggie's  round  freckled 
face  grew  as  pink  as  the  dress  at  the  glorious  thought.  So 
the  girls  had  no  idea  of  all  they  were  asking  her  to  sac- 
rifice. And  Aggie  would  not  promise. 

But  the  very  day  before  the  Great  Occasion  Miss  Mitchell 
stood  up  and  blasted  all  Aggie's  girlish  dreams  by  the  cruel 
announcement  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Harrison,  the  Methodist 
minister  from  "Down  Below,"  would  give  an  address  on 
Friday,  and  present  the  prizes.  Aggie  listened  in  disgust. 
Mr.  Harrison  was  old  and  married  and  short-sighted.  But 
there  was  still  a  faint  hope  that  Mr.  Balfour  might  be 
present;  so  she  hunted  up  Janet  Meldrum  at  recess;  and 
was  so  pleasant  to  her  that  before  the  interview  was  over 
Janet  felt  that  Aggie  ought  to  be  moved  up  a  shelf. 

"I  s'pose  your  Ma  and  Mr.  Balfour  will  be  coming  to 
school  on  Friday,"  Aggie  asked  quite  casually,  holding  out 
a  paper  bag  of  chocolate  drops.  Janet  took  a  handful  and 
answered  cordially.  She  was  always  glad  to  tell  all  she 
knew  about  everything. 

"No,  Mother  can't  come,"  she  said,  munching  happily. 
"She  promised  to  go  to  a  meeting  or  something  in  West 
Hampton.  She's  'most  always  going  there.  They  have, 
an  awful  lot  of  meetings  in  West  Hampton,  and  they  keep 
Mother  busy." 

Here  Janet  paused,  struck  dumb  with  admiration  at  thV 
sight  of  Bud  standing  on  his  red  head  at  the  other  end  of 
the  school  yard.  Aggie  waited  in  vain,  and  then  ventured 
the  trembling  question: 

'1  s'pose  Mr.  Balfour  won't  be  coming  either." 

"No,  he  can't  come  either.  Miss  Mitchell  wanted  him 
to  give  out  the  prizes,  and  he  wanted  to,  but  he  has  to  go 
to  Presbytery.  It's  in  Algonquin  and  he  has  to  go.  Isn't 
it  too  bad?" 

Aggie  quite  agreed  that  it  was  entirely  too  bad.  Her 
bright  hopes  faded.  It  didn't  matter  what  she  wore;  she 


126  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

would  join  the  ranks  of  martyrs.  But  she  felt  that  she 
might  as  well  earn  some  recognition  for  it.  "I'm  going 
to  wear  this  old  dress,  Janet,"  she  said,  "  'cause  you  wanted 
all  the  girls  to  wear  their  old  things.  Isn't  Molly's  dress 
awful?" 

Dress  was  not  the  only  subject  of  importance  in  connec- 
tion with  the  coming  event.  There  was  a  very  fine  pro- 
gramme prepared.  Miss  Mitchell  chose  Lennie  Caldwell 
as  chairman,  and  his  mother  wrote  a  wonderful  speech  for 
him,  and  he  recited  it  to  Janet  the  afternoon  before  the  prize- 
giving,  without  a  single  mistake.  Janet  was  to  recite  a 
poem  called  "Jack-in-the-pulpit,"  because  Mr.  Balfour  liked 
it  very  much,  seeing  it  was  about  a  preacher.  Nellie  and 
Susie  were  to  sing,  "It  is  lovely  May,"  entirely  unmindful 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  lovely  October.  There  were  to  be 
two  dialogues  by  the  older  pupils;  and  at  the  end  of  the 
programme  Mr.  Harrison  was  to  present  the  prizes. 

On  Thursday,  the  day  before  the  big  occasion,  the  Fourth 
Class  remained  at  school  after  four  o'clock  to  help  Miss 
Mitchell  decorate  the  room.  Spotty  Cameron  and  Tim  Kelly 
went  up  to  the  grove  and  brought  down  boughs  of  cedar  and 
balsam ;  and  hung  them  around  the  bare  cracked  walls ;  and 
the  girls  wound  garlands  of  scarlet  maple  leaves  and  moun- 
tain ash  berries  among  the  green.  The  little  school-room 
was  transformed  into  a  garden;  and  they  turned  the  key 
on  its  fragrance  and  beauty;  and  reluctantly  left  it  waiting 
for  the  great  event. 


CHAPTER  XI 
RUSHED  THE  DISCORD  IN 

THAT  night  winter  sent  a  heralding  wind  dancing  down 
from  the  northern  hills.  It  swept  over  Cherry  Hill; 
and  all  the  brilliant  leaves  of  all  the  glorious  trees  that  lined 
the  village  street  left  their  homes,  and  went  dancing  away 
after  their  Pied  Piper.  A  nip  of  frost  in  the  clear  air 
sent  the  boys  and  girls  racing  to  school,  flinging  the  rustling 
leaves  over  their  heads,  and  leaping  for  joy  that  winter 
was  coming. 

When  they  all  returned  to  school  after  dinner  the  boys 
had  set  the  big  stove  roaring;  and  the  little  school-room 
was  warm,  and  heavily  scented  with  the  perfume  of  cedar 
and  balsam  boughs.  All  the  big  girls,  true  to  their  promise, 
returned  in  their  school  dresses;  and  Molly  looked  quite 
smart  in  Janet's  best  lace  collar,  and  a  string  of  pink  beads 
Kitty  Gillespie  had  loaned  her. 

It  was  just  a  few  minutes  before  the  time  for  the  bell 
to  ring;  the  older  girls  were  putting  the  final  touches  to 
the  maple  wreaths;  and  Aggie  Wright  was  fastening  some 
red  berries  in  her  hair ;  when  Janet  Meldrum  came  whirling 
in,  quite  incoherent  with  her  great  news. 

"Mr.  Balfour's  coming  to  give  out  the  p-p-prizes,  after 
all!"  she  cried,  stuttering  with  joy.  "Mr.  Harrison  tele- 
phoned that  he  had  to  go  to  a  funeral.  Somebody  died 
Down  Below.  Isn't  that  lovely?  An'  Mr.  Balfour's  com- 
ing back  early  from  Algonquin  so's  he'll  be  here !" 

This  was  great  tidings.  Every  boy  and  girl  in  Cherry 
Hill  knew  Mr.  Balfour  and  liked  him ;  but  to  one  heart  the 
message  brought  a  mingling  of  delight  and  despair.  Aggie 
Wright's  beat  rapidly  beneath  her  ruffled  plaid  blouse. 

127 


128  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Mr.  Balfour  coming,  and  that  wonderful  pink  silk  dress 
lying  away  in  the  closet  at  home !  Here  was  the  great  op- 
portunity of  her  life;  and  she  would  have  to  meet  it  in 
an  old  plaid  dress  she  had  worn  all  last  spring.  If  she 
were  in  her  pink  silk,  with  the  pink  bow  on  her  hair! 
The  bell  rang  like  a  knell  breaking  into  her  dream;  and 
school  was  called  for  the  short  afternoon  session.  Aggie 
sat  through  it,  realising  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 
She  walked  out  for  the  early  recess,  seeing  only  the  vision 
of  a  silken  clad  beauty  receiving  the  first  prize  from  the 
hands  of  the  young  minister,  and  an  adoring  look  from  his 
handsome  eyes. 

Recess  was  to  be  very  short;  for  the  visitors  were  ex- 
pected immediately  afterwards.  The  Fourth  Class  girls 
gathered  in  little  groups  about  the  door,  to  watch  for  any 
possible  early  visitors;  while  the  younger  children,  Janet 
in  the  midst,  went  rolling  and  tumbling  about  in  the  rain- 
bow drifts  of  fallen  leaves. 

Aggie  Wright  wandered  disconsolately  around  the  wood- 
pile to  the  back  of  the  school.  Just  beyond  the  low  broken 
fence  lay  her  father's  farm;  and  only  a  couple  of  fields 
away  stood  her  home,  down  there  among  the  yellow  orchard 
trees.  And  in  that  home  lay  the  pink  silk  gown.  Aggie 
looked  across  the  brown  fields  much  as  Eve  must  have 
looked  at  the  forbidden  tree.  And  then  the  serpent  whis- 
pered that  she  would  be  as  a  goddess  if  she  wore  thereof; 
and  the  next  moment  Aggie  fell.  She  fell  over  the  low 
remnant  of  a  fence  that  divided  her  father's  fields  from 
the  school-yard;  and  went  scurrying  down  the  hill,  her 
short  legs  making  marvellous  progress  over  the  brown 
stubble. 

"Where's  Aggie  Wright  off  to?"  cried  Tom  Gibson's 
Tilly  in  her  high  shrill  voice.  Tilly  Tom,  as  everyone 
called  her,  was  the  tallest  girl  in  Cherry  Hill  school.  She 
had  a  very  long  neck  and  large  protruding  eyes,  and  was 
able  to  survey  everything  over  other  people's  heads. 

"There's  Aggie  Wright  off  home!"  she  called;  and  all 
the  Fourth  Class  girls  came  running  to  see. 


RUSHED  THE  DISCORD  IN  129 

"What's  she  goin'  home  for,  I'd  like  to  know?"  cried 
Jessie  Cameron  suspiciously.  "She  ain't  sick  is  she?" 

"Hello,  Aggie!"  they  all  shouted.  "Where  are  you 
goin'?" 

But  Aggie  neither  turned  nor  heeded.  She  had  set  her 
hand  to  the  plough  and  was  making  it  go  so  fast  there 
was  no  time  to  look  back. 

The  rest  of  the  pupils  went  stamping  indoors,  at  the 
call  of  the  bell ;  and  were  scarcely  seated  when  the  visitors 
began  to  arrive.  The  first  was  Lennie  Caldwell's  big  sis- 
ter, Kate,  who  went  to  the  High  School  in  Algonquin.  She 
came  rustling  in,  dressed  in  a  new  shiny  green  silk,  and 
went  swishing  straight  up  to  the  teacher's  desk  with  an 
important  message.  Her  mother  was  delayed,  she  said, 
and  could  not  be  present  for  the  first  of  the  programme; 
and  she  wanted  Lennie's  speech  postponed  until  she  should 
be  there  to  hear  it. 

She  was  followed  closely  by  the  Camerons'  mother,  and 
Spider  Gibson's  mother,  and  then  came  old  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gibbie  Gibson,  and  Mrs.  Beckett,  and  Mrs.  Gillespie,  and 
a  half-dozen  others. 

The  guests  arranged  themselves  on  benches  along  the 
wall;  the  pupils  settled  themselves  in  their  accustomed 
places;  and  Miss  Mitchell,,  her  cheeks  very  pink  with 
nervousness,  stood  up  and  touched  her  little  bell  for  order : 
Just  as  everyone  grew  quiet,  the  door  opened  hurriedly ;  and 
all  heads  were  turned  to  see  who  it  was.  It  was  Aggie 
Wright.  She  slipped  into  her  seat,  breathing  very  hard. 
She  wore  her  long  grey  winter  coat,  buttoned  up  to  her  chin  ; 
and  the  next  moment  she  emerged  from  it,  like  a  brilliant 
butterfly  from  a  grey  cocoon;  and  sat  there  before  the 
astonished  eyes  of  Cherry  Hill  school  in  all  the  shimmering 
glory  of  her  pink  silk  grown ! 

There  is  no  doubt  it  was  a  wonderful  dress,  even  for 
Aggie,  whose  dresses  were  all  very  grand ;  and  the  feminine 
side  of  the  Fourth  Class  sat  staring  in  mingled  admira- 
tion and  indignation.  It  was  a  mean,  horrid  trick,  they 
all  whispered  to  each  other,  when  they  were  capable  of 


130  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

speech,  just  a  mean,  nasty,  sneaky  thing  Aggie  Wright 
had  gone  and  done ;  and  besides  she  had  promised  to  wear 
her  old  dress,  like  the  others ;  and  therefore  she  was 
guilty  of  the  added  sin  of  telling  a  whopper;  and  every 
girl  in  the  Fourth  Class  could  prove  it!  But  for  all  that, 
there  was  no  denying  that  the  pink  silk  dress  was  the  most 
beautiful  thing  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  Cherry  Hill.  It 
was  silk;  there  was  no  smallest  doubt  of  that,  taffeta  silk 
that  shone  like  Lake  Simcoe  and  rustled  like  the  poplars 
behind  the  school.  And  it  was  pink — oh,  a  marvellous  pink, 
like  Wellington  Cald well's  prize  roses.  It  was  trimmed 
with  ruffles  of  white  lace,  wherever  lace  could  be  put  on, 
and  it  was  buttoned  down  the  back  with  six  beautiful 
round  pearl  buttons  that  gleamed  like  shells  from  the  sea. 
It  was  very  tight  at  the  waist,  and  Aggie  looked  quite  slim 
where  the  pink  ribbon  sash  was  tied  in  a  bewitching  bow, 
but  the  waist  met  only  under  protest  across  Aggie's  broad 
back ;  and  between  the  shining  pearl  spheres  there  appeared 
a  gaping  stretch  of  comfortable  grey  flannel,  which  a 
cautious  mother  had  insisted  upon  Aggie  wearing.  But 
whatever  discrepancies  the  buttons  had  left  behind,  Aggie 
was  a  perfect  vision  in  front.  Her  sleeves  were  short, 
and  bore  a  deep  lace  ruffle  that  fell  over  her  plump  arms; 
and  her  hair,  which  she  had  curled  carefully  the  night  be- 
fore, was  topped  by  an  immense  bow  of  ribbon  the  same 
wonderful  shade  as  the  dress. 

Poor  Molly's  feeble  charms:  Janet's  white  lace  collar, 
and  Kitty  Gillespie's  string  of  coral  beads  faded  away  in 
the  radiance  that  flowed  over  her  from  the  vision  at  her 
side. 

The  other  Fourth  Class  girls  were  equally  overcome. 
Only  one  of  them  had  the  spirit  to  struggle  against  her  fate. 
Annie  MacKay,  who  lived  near  the  school,  and  owned  a 
new  red  dress  trimmed  with  black  velvet,  held  up  her 
hand.  She  asked  Miss  Mitchell  if  she  might  run  home  for 
something  she  had  forgotten;  and  the  class  held  its  breath 
for  the  answer. 

But  just  at  that  moment  Spider  Gibson's  father,  who  was 


RUSHED  THE  DISCORD  IN  131 

a  trustee,  entered  the  room;  and  Miss  Mitchell  frowned 
and  shook  her  head;  and  Aggie  was  left  to  shine  alone, 
the  only  star  in  an  ill-dressed  firmament. 

Meanwhile  Lennie  had  taken  his  place  upon  the  platform, 
with  the  utmost  composure ;  and  the  programme  was  started,, 
his  speech  being  deferred  until  the  arrival  of  his  proud 
mother.  Janet  was  called  early,  much  to  her  disappoint- 
ment; she  had  been  hoping  she  might  wait  until  Mr.  Bal- 
f our  was  there  to  hear  her.  She  was  disappointed,  too> 
that  Miss  Lena  missed  her.  She  had  stayed  behind  to  help 
Mr.  Balfour  with  some  Sunday  School  reports  he  was  hurry- 
ing to  get  off  with  the  afternoon  mail. 

When  Janet  had  galloped  through  her  verses,  Nellie  and 
Susie  sang  their  little  May  song  very  sweetly.  Then  Rosie 
recited  a  very  funny  Irish  piece  that  made  everyone  laugh. 
Lennie  was  getting  very  anxious  and  kept  looking  out  of 
the  window  throughout  each  performance;  for  the  pro- 
gramme was  drawing  to  a  close  and  the  chairman's  open- 
ing address  had  not  yet  been  given.  At  last,  when  he 
was  almost  in  tears,  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Caldwell 
rustled  in,  as  full  of  anxiety  as  the  chairman  himself. 

As  soon  as  she  had  loosened  her  fur,  and  settled  her  hat 
straight,  Lennie  stood  up  and  began: 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  fellow-students "  Lennie  was 

dressed  in  his  best  suit  and  wore  a  wide  white  collar  and 
a  bright  silk  tie.  His  shoes  were  polished  and  his  hair  was 
smooth  and  shining;  and  no  wonder  his  mother,  gazed  at 
him  in  pride  and  delight.  He  recited  his  speech  perfectly, 
never  stumbling  over  even  the  biggest  word,  and  never 
missing  one  of  the  gestures  in  which  his  sister  had  trained 
him. 

But  it  was  just  this  perfection  of  looks  and  action,  the 
white  collar  and  the  flowing  sentences  that  helped  to  bring 
about  the  evil  plot  that  was  being  hatched  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  Away  in  the  abandoned  region  of  the  back 
seat  Spotty  Cameron  and  Tim  Kelly  were  sitting,  looking 
at  the  young  orator  as  the  king  of  the  forest  might  look  at 
the  antics  of  a  performing  toad.  When  Lennie  came  to  his 


132  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

phrase  about  "Integrity,  Industry  and  Intelligence"  some- 
thing rose  up  within  Spotty  Cameron's  heart  that  could 
not  be  smothered,  something  akin  to  the  feeling  that  the 
lion  might  have  experienced  when  the  toad  grew  weari- 
some and  supper  time  was  at  hand.  Spotty  whispered  to 
Tim;  Tim  doubled  up  over  his  desk  in  a  spasm  of  joy, 
and  whispered  the  good  news  to  Spider  Gibson.  Spider 
also  took  a  spasm,  and  whispered  to  Ed  Sinclair ;  and  when 
Ed  had  regained  his  self-control,  he  leaned  across  the  aisle 
and  rummaged  in  Bud  Kelly's  desk. 

Bud  was  absent,  having  taken  advantage  of  Miss 
Mitchell's  preoccupation  to  visit  a  friend  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  room.  But  his  storehouse  was  available.  Bud 
Kelly's  desk  was  always  full  of  strange  merchandise.  He 
was  a  born  collector;  and  since  the  season  for  bugs  was 
over,  he  had  taken  to  collecting  spices.  There  was  no  rea- 
son for  this :  it  was  merely  that  he  felt  a  compelling  impulse 
to  collect  something;  and  that  very  morning  he  had  added 
three  kinds  of  pepper  to  his  museum,  having  negotiated 
a  trade  with  Sam  MacKay,  whose  father  kept  the  village 
store.  Tim  knew  what  addition  had  been  made  to  his 
brother's  collection,  and  in  a  moment  the  fatal  packet  was 
passed  to  the  back  seat. 

Miss  Mitchell  leaned  over  to  whisper  something,  in  ad- 
miration of  Lennie's  oratory,  to  Mrs.  Caldwell ;  and  Spotty 
Cameron  arose  nonchalantly  and  rearranged  the  stove 
damper. 

Unfortunately  for  the  plotters,  Lennie  reached  the  end 
of  his  address  too  soon.  A  moment  later  he  finished  up 
with  another  grand  sentence  containing  "Industry,  Intelli- 
gence and  Integrity" ;  and  took  his  seat  amidst  long  and  loud 
stamping  and  clapping. 

The  back  seat  was  disgusted  that  it  had  been  so  slow. 
"Aw,  why  didn't  we  think  of  it  sooner !"  groaned  Tim. 

"It  would  'a'  been  dandy  to  see  him  sneeze  his  silly  head 
off,  right  in  the  middle  o'  one  o'  them  long  stuck-up  words," 
said  Spotty,  who  was  also  suffering  the  pangs  of  regret. 

There  was  some  apprehension  mingled  with  the  regret. 


RUSHED  THE  DISCORD  IN  133 

There  was  no  chance  to  undo  the  evil  they  had  started ;  and 
in  due  time  the  terrible  consequences  would  arise.  They 
ducked  their  heads  over  their  desks  in  spasms  of  hysterical 
laughter. 

The  applause  over  Lennie's  address  had  scarcely  died 
away,  when  the  door  opened  and  Miss  Lena  Sinclair  en- 
tered, looking  flushed  and  bright-eyed  and  very  happy ;  and 
behind  her  came  the  tall  figure  of  the  young  minister  of 
Knox  Church. 

The  pink  bow  on  the  top  of  Aggie  Wright's  head  flut- 
tered and  nodded  like  a  rose  in  the  summer  breeze;  and 
Janet  fairly  jumped  out  of  her  seat  and  said,  "Oh,"  right 
out  loud  before  she  could  hold  back  her  delight.  Mr.  Bal- 
four  went  up  to  the  platform  and  took  the  seat  Miss  Mitchell 
had  saved  for  him.  He  looked  around  the  room  and  beamed 
upon  them  all.  He  loved  children,  and  was  at  his  happiest 
when  among  them.  The  two  culprits  in  the  back  seat  could 
not  but  feel  that  his  eyes  had  a  knowing  look,  as  they 
turned  towards  them.  They  had  played  ball  with  him  down 
in  Wright's  pasture;  and  they  knew  by  experience  that  he 
had  an  uncanny  knowledge  of  what  was  inside  a  fellow. 
But  his  smiling  eyes  were  roving  about  in  search  of  Janet. 
She  was  leaning  away  out  in  the  aisle  to  catch  his  glance, 
her  long  braid  almost  touching  the  floor.  He  smiled  radi- 
antly when  he  saw  her;  and  she  fairly  curled  up  with  joy; 
and  ventured  to  wave  her  hand,  just  the  least  little  bit,  when 
Miss  Mitchell  was  not  looking. 

The  teacher  took  a  sheet  of  paper  out  of  her  desk,  and 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Balfour.  Everyone  knew  it  contained  the 
names  of  the  prize-winners,  and  a  death-like  stillness  fell 
over  the  room.  Mr.  Balfour  took  the  paper  and  arose,  look- 
ing very  wise  and  solemn,  in  spite  of  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
He  was  about  to  speak,  when  Miss  Mitchell  touched  him 
gently  on  the  arm.  Would  he  please  excuse  her  while  she 
asked  the  Fourth  Class  to  stand?  They  were  all  competi- 
tors for  the  prizes. 

The  Fourth  Class  stood  up.  Spider,  Tim  and  Spotty 
shuffled  out  and  stood  with  hanging  heads,  bursting  with 


134  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

unseemly  laughter,  waiting  for  the  heavens  to  fall.  Aggie 
Wright  flitted  out  into  the  middle  of  the  aisle,  like  a  beau- 
tiful bird  of  paradise.  She  put  one  plump  hand  to  the  bow 
on  the  top  of  her  head,  and  the  other  behind  to  see  if  the 
sorely  strained  pearl  buttons  were  all  doing  their  duty.  Mr. 
Balfour  came  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  paper  in  hand, 
and  said,  "Girls  and  boys,"  and  then  the  first  crack  of  the 
falling  heavens  sounded. 

The  chairman  gave  a  loud  rude  sneeze, — Lennie,  who  was 
always  so  polite!  The  school  giggled,  Miss  Mitchell  looked 
pained,  and  raised  her  eyebrows  at  the  sneezer.  It  was  not 
like  Lennie  to  do  anything  improper.  Then  Tilly  Tom, 
who  sat  near  the  stove,  also  sneezed,  a  loud  screaming 
sneeze ;  and  put  her  sleeve  to  her  eyes.  Next,  Kitty  Gillespie 
began  to  cough  violently;  and  then  an  epidemic  of  coughs 
and  sneezes  and  giggles  broke  out  around  the  stove.  Mr.  Bal- 
four went  on  with  his  speech  undisturbed,  but  there  was  a 
half-amused  half-quizzical  look  on  his  face,  which  the  two 
chief  sneezers  in  the  back  seat  could  not  but  regard  with 
fear.  Who  knew  but  he,  himself,  had  known  boys,  long, 
long  ago  in  his  school-days,  who  put  pepper  on  stoves  ?  The 
storm  of  sneezing  grew ;  Mr.  Balfour  raised  his  voice ;  Miss 
Mitchell's  face  grew  as  pink  as  Aggie  Wright's  silk  dress; 
and  her  angry  eyes  travelled  down  to  the  abandoned  corner 
where  her  suspicion  always  unerringly  pointed,  when  things 
went  wrong.  Molly  was  the  next  victim;  she  sneezed  a 
quiet,  limp,  patient  sort  of  sneeze,  as  though  she  had  scarcely 
enough  physical  energy  to  get  rid  of  it.  And  then,  just  as 
Mr  Balfour  said:  "I  shall  now  give  the  names  of  the 
winners,"  a  terrible  thing  happened.  Aggie  Wright  sneezed, 
oh,  such  a  sneeze !  It  was  bigger  and  louder  and  more  ro- 
bust than  all  the  other  sneezes  in  chorus.  It  seemed  to  come 
from  the  toes  of  her  shiny  new  boots,  and  leap  to  the  top 
of  the  pink  bow  on  her  hair ;  a  loud,  convulsive,  resounding 
"A-a-chay,"  that  seemed  to  relieve  all  the  painful  restric- 
tions the  pink  dress  had  put  upon  poor  Aggie's  inner  organs 
all  afternoon.  And  then,  with  no  time  for  a  handkerchief 
to  be  snatched  from  the  silken  pocket,  there  came  a  second 


RUSHED  THE  DISCORD  IN  135 

explosion,  more  emphatic  than  the  first.  As  it  burst  from 
Aggie's  pink  silk  person,  the  strain  was  too  much  for  the 
tight  dress;  and  each  of  the  six  pearl  buttons  that  shone 
like  the  shells  of  the  sea, — every  single  one  of  them, — burst 
from  its  place  with  a  sickening  sound  of  rending  thread,  and 
flew  in  six  different  directions,  landing  like  a  small  hail  of 
bullets  with  a  snap  and  rattle  all  over  the  school-room ! 

Poor  Aggie!  The  sudden  relief  from  the  painful  tight- 
ness brought  a  horrible  fear.  She  put  back  one  hand  and 
clutched  wildly  at  the  gaping  breach  the  treacherous  buttons 
had  left  in  the  wake  of  their  cowardly  desertion;  and  then 
she  sank  into  her  seat  with  a  gasp  of  dismay,  and  another 
sneeze  that  almost  finished  her  disintegration.  And  just 
at  that  moment  the  prize-winners  were  called  to  the  front. 

Big  good-natured  Tilly  Tom  reached  her  long  arm  out  to 
poor  Aggie's  aid  with  a  big  safety-pin  which  she  had  gen- 
erously spared  from  a  precarious  skirt.  With  this  she 
endeavoured  to  repair  the  gaping  breach  of  grey  flannel. 
Friendly  hands  proffered  pins ;  and,  restored  from  all  direc- 
tions, came  in  the  miscreant  buttons,  whose  untimely  flight 
had  caused  the  disaster. 

Meanwhile  the  prize-giving  was  going  on;  though  the 
giver  had  almost  been  driven  to  cover  by  the  storm  of 
sneezes  and  giggles  and  buttons,  and  by  a  yearning  desire 
to  sneeze  himself.  Poor  Aggie  did  not  even  notice  that 
Molly  Kelly  had  won  the  first  prize,  Charlie  John  Gibson 
the  second,  and  she  herself  the  third.  She  could  not  go  for- 
ward for  even  the  third  prize  from  Mr.  Balfour's  hands. 
He  looked  about  enquiringly,  wiping  his  eyes,  and  Miss 
Mitchell  whispered  something,  and  took  it  from  him,  her- 
self. Evidently  Mr.  Balfour  had  no  notion  that  the  pink 
silk  wreck  near  the  stove  was  the  Aggie  Wright  of  the  third 
prize ;  and  Aggie  felt  as  Cinderella  might  have  felt  had  her 
finery  all  vanished  in  the  ballroom,  just  as  the  Prince  asked 
her  to  dance !  When  Molly  stood  up,  starry-eyed,  her 
cheeks  pink  with  excitement,  and  Mr.  Balfour  shook  hands 
with  her,  and  congratulated  her  upon  her  clever  essay,  Aggie 


136  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

put  her  beribboned  head  down  upon  the  desk  and  gave  way 
to  heaving  sobs. 

While  Molly  was  reading  her  essay  to  the  audience  Miss 
Mitchell  tip-toed  down  the  aisle.  She  laid  the  third  prize 
on  the  desk  beside  Aggie's  bowed  head,  with  a  word  of 
commiseration ;  and,  stepping  across  the  aisle,  addressed  the 
Back  Seat  in  low  but  terrible  tones,  promising  a  dread 
reckoning  when  the  visitors  had  departed.  The  windows 
and  doors  were  thrown  open ;  the  atmosphere  cleared.  The 
school  rose  and  sang  "O  Canada"  and  everybody  went  home. 

Poor  Aggie  grabbed  her  long  coat  from  which  she  had 
emerged  so  dazzlingly  only  a  few  hours  before,  and  flinging 
it  over  the  glory  that  had  been  her  downfall,  she  dashed 
out  of  school  and  homeward,  weeping  violently.  The  girls 
of  her  class  watched  her  go  with  unsoftened  hearts.  No- 
body approached  her  with  a  word  of  sympathy.  Good- 
natured  Tilly  could  not  follow  her  as  her  heart  prompted ;. 
having  been  deprived  of  the  one  pin  that  made  movement 
safe;  and  the  Fourth  Class  girls  saw  in  her  disgrace  only 
a  just  retribution. 


CHAPTER  XII 
BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE 

JANET  was  not  at  all  sure  that  her  third  great  attempt  to 
spread  the  music  of  life  had  been  a  success.  To  be  sure 
Molly  had  won  the  first  prize ;  and  the  girls  had  worn  their 
old  dresses ;  and  no  one  saw  Molly's  shabby  dress,  anyway, 
for  everyone  was  busy  wiping  her  eyes.  But  she  felt  that 
circumstances  had  been  rather  hard  on  Aggie  Wright. 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  have  a  silk  dress,"  she  stated  to  Mr. 
Balfour,  the  next  evening,  as  they  sat  cosily  before  the  study 
fire.  "It  must  be  an  awful  bother  to  mind,  and  it  must  be 
awfuller  to  have  one  that  goes  to  pieces  when  you  sneeze. 
I  guess  Aggie  was  sorry  she  wore  hers." 

"It  was  hard  luck,  certainly,"  Mr.  Balfour  said,  looking 
into  the  fire  with  very  solemn  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Caldwell  said  that  Providence  sent  a  punishment 
on  her  for  being  vain,"  said  Janet  gravely.  Mrs.  Caldwell 
was  a  very  pious  woman  and  had  no  difficulty  in  tracing 
divine  judgment  in  all  her  neighbours'  adversities. 

"Providence  means  God,  doesn't  it?  Well,  I  don't  think 
it  was  God.  I  think  it  was  the  pepper  the  boys  put  on  the 
stove,"  she  continued,  feeling  inclined,  as  usual,  to  argue 
the  question.  "It  doesn't  seem  like  a  trick  God  would  do," 
she  continued,  stroking  Blackie,  who  lay  on  her  lap.  "He 
wouldn't  snatch  away  Aggie's  buttons  like  that,  without 
any  warning,  would  He,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"No,  I  don't  believe  He  would,"  said  Mr.  Balfour.  "We 
often  bring  trouble  on  ourselves  by  our  foolishness;  or 
someone  else  brings  it  by  their  selfishness ;  and  it  is  wrong 
to  blame  our  kind  Father  in  Heaven  when  it  comes." 

Janet  listened,  very  much  interested.     Everything  con- 


138  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

nected  with  religion  had  taken  on  a  new  colour  since  Mr. 
Balfour  had  come  to  Cherry  Hill.  Every  grown-up  person, 
it  seemed,  had  a  different  view  of  what  being  a  Christian 
meant.  With  Daddy  it  meant  that  she  must  obey  him  and 
Mother,  and  not  neglect  her  Sunday  School  lesson.  Accord- 
ing to  her  mother's  creed  it  evidently  meant  being  always 
prettily  dressed,  and  having  nice  manners  at  the  table ;  and 
with  Kirsty,  being  a  good  girl  was  to  sit  all  the  time  with- 
out moving,  and  never,  never  want  to  go  away  from  the 
house ;  or  have  anyone  in  to  play  and  make  a  noise. 

But  Mr.  Balfour's  idea  of  being  a  Christian  seemed  just 
everybody  having  a  good  time ;  or,  rather,  it  was  seeing  that 
everybody  else  had  a  good  time ;  and  then  you  were  sure  to 
have  a  wonderful  time  yourself.  And  it  seemed  that  you 
might  sing  and  make  melody  unto  the  Lord,  and  please  Him, 
even  while  your  hair  was  all  around  your  ears,  and  your 
clothes  in  tatters. 

She  sighed  happily.  "Molly  got  the  two  dollars,  anyway," 
she  declared  jubilantly.  "And  she's  going  to  buy  her  mother 
a  new  shawl." 

Mr.  Balfour  did  not  answer.  He  had  seated  himself  at 
his  desk,  and  was  writing  a  letter;  and  Janet  made  Pepper 
lie  down  on  his  cushion;  and  tried  hard  not  to  talk.  But 
she  could  not  be  quiet  very  long. 

"You've  got  a  lot  more  letters  to  write  than  you  used  to. 
haven't  you?"  she  enquired  sympathetically.  Writing  let- 
ters was,  to  Janet's  mind,  a  heavy  task. 

"Why  ?    Do  I  write  more  than  usual  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  ever  so  many  more.  But  you  stay  home  more, 
since  Sylvia  Ward  went  away.  I  used  to  miss  you  awfully, 
when  you  went  up  to  Miss  Lena's  so  much." 

The  young  man  made  marks  on  his  blotter  with  his  pen ; 
and  looked  very  much  embarrassed. 

"It's  so  lonesome  when  you  go  visiting  up  at  Miss  Lena's ; 
and  Mother  goes  to  a  meeting;  and  Blackie  runs  away — 
I've  only  got  Kirsty  and  Pepper  left." 

"Blackie  ?  Does  he  go  out  evenings  ?"  asked  Mr.  Balfour, 
plunging  eagerly  into  this  subject  as  a  means  of  escape. 


BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  139 

Janet  shook  her  head  solemnly.  "Yes,  he  does;  and  he 
does  worse  things  than  that.  I'm  afraid  he's  growing  up 
to  be  a  very  bad  pussy.  He's  getting  so  greedy.  Yes,  you 
are,  Blackie,  you  needn't  look  at  me  that  way.  You  know 
you're  naughty." 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  said  Mr.  Balfour  anxiously. 
"What's  he  been  doing?" 

Janet  confessed  Blackie's  evil  deeds  with  deep  humilia- 
tion. His  chief  sin,  it  appeared,  was  a  growing  appetite 
that  nothing  could  appease.  Kirsty  declared  there  was 
no  filling  him.  His  saucer  of  milk  was  like  the  consomme 
at  the  beginning  of  a  dinner.  He  was  caught  by  Bud,  sev- 
eral times,  prowling  round  other  people's  back  yards  like 
an  alley  cat  who  belonged  to  nobody,  instead  of  a  respect- 
able member  of  the  minister's  family;  and  to  pile  up  the 
sum  of  his  crimes,  he  had  even  dared  to  steal  from  Kirsty's 
pantry ! 

This  was  really  serious;  for  Janet  knew  that  if  Blackie 
became  obnoxious  to  Kirsty,  he  would  be  banished  to  the 
barn  or  perhaps  farther.  "I'm  afraid  I  haven't  brought  him 
up  right,"  Janet  confessed,  stroking  the  soft  black  satin 
coat. 

"Parents  are  to  blame  when  their  children  grow  up  bad," 
Mr.  Balfour  said,  shaking  his  head  solemnly. 

Janet's  one  dimple,  which  hid  in  her  left  cheek,  peeped 
out.  It  was  very  hard  to  be  solemn  when  Mr.  Balfour  used 
that  tone. 

"Mrs.  Caldwell  says  Mother  isn't  bringing  me  up  prop- 
erly," she  said  cheerfully.  "She  says  I  need  more  discipline. 
What's  discipline,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"It's  a  kind  of  medicine  that  Blackie  needs,"  he  said,  try- 
ing to  turn  the  current  of  her  thoughts ;  and  thinking  some- 
thing about  Mrs.  Caldwell  which  would  have  astounded  that 
complacent  lady.  "What's  this  Kirsty's  been  telling  me 
about  his  eating  the  tail  off  the  fish  yesterday  ?" 

Blackie's  latest  black  deed  was  related,  with  much  shame. 
It  was  really  a  disgraceful  affair,  that  of  the  fish;  and 


140  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Janet  trembled  to  think  what  might  be  his  fate  at  Kirsty's 
hands  should  the  Tike  occur  again. 

Blackie  lay  stretched  on  Janet's  lap,  during  the  recital, 
blinking  at  the  fire,  purring  loudly,  and  looking  as  innocent 
as  if  he  were  a  nice  white  kitten,  instead  of  a  middle-aged 
cat  with  a  record  as  black  as  his  glossy  coat. 

"I'll  learn  him  a  lesson  some  day,"  threatened  Kirsty, 
coming  in  with  an  armful  of  wood  for  the  fire.  "That 
cat'll  come  till  a  bad  end,  mark  my  word." 

Kirsty  was  a  staunch  Presbyterian,  and  despised  all  super- 
stitions. She  scoffed  at  people  like  that  ignorant  Irish- 
woman, Mrs.  Murphy,  who  would  not  make  her  soap  unless 
it  was  "the  right  of  the  moon."  And  yet  Kirsty  had  had  a 
Highland  Scotch  mother,  and  she  was  not  just  prepared  to 
state  absolutely  that  there  were  no  fairies,  warlocks, 
witches  and  such  like.  And  though  she  would  never  admit 
it,  she  always  regarded  Blackie  with  something  of  super- 
stitious fear.  She  disliked  his  intense  blackness,  and  his 
yellow-green  eyes,  and  his  sudden  quiet  way  of  appearing 
where  he  was  least  expected.  She  looked  down  at  him, 
lying  on  Janet's  lap,  and  shook  her  head. 

"He'll  come  till  a  bad  end,"  she  reiterated.  "Mark  my 
word." 

Janet  smoothed  his  shiny,  satin  coat.  "You  mustn't  be 
so  bold  and  greedy,  Blackie,"  she  admonished  gently. 
"Now,  listen  to  Janet,  and  promise  to  be  good."  Blackie 
purred  loudly,  in  response,  and  Janet  looked  up  hopefully. 
"There,  did  you  hear  him,  Kirsty?  He's  promised.  He 
says  he'll  be  good.  He  promised  just  now." 

But  evidently  Blackie  had  given  his  word  lightly;  for 
in  the  days  following  there  was  no  visible  improvement  in 
his  conduct.  He  continued  in  his  evil  ways.  He  leaped 
upon  the  kitchen  table ;  he  stole  from  the  cellar ;  he  snatched 
from  Pepper  and  the  hens ;  he  went  on  marauding  expedi- 
tions to  the  neighbours ;  and  in  every  way  proved  himself  a 
great  trial  to  Janet.  Matters  grew  so  serious  that  she  took 
to  praying  about  him. 

"Nellie  says  it's  not  right  to  pray  about  a  cat,"  she  said 


BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  141 

to  her  mother.  "But  I  don't  know  what  else  to  do.  If  he 
doesn't  be  good  soon  Kirsty'll  do  something  to  him ;  and  I'd 
rather  the  Lord  would  attend  to  Blackie  than  Kirsty,"  she 
added,  feeling  with  the  great  commander  of  the  "Revenge" 
that  it  was  better  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  God  than  into  the 
hands  of  Spain. 

And  then  Janet's  prayer  was  answered  in  a  very  strange 
manner.  It  happened  on  the  last  night  of  October,  which 
was  Janet's  birthday.  For  she  had  arrived  in  the  world 

"Upon  that  night,  when  Fairies  light 
On  Cassilis  Downans  dance." 

and  Mr.  Balfour  said  the  date  was  very  appropriate,  and 
explained  many  things  about  her. 

On  this  birthday,  Nellie  was  invited  to  supper ;  and  with 
Mr.  Balfour's  help  they  had  a  very  gay  time  indeed.  They 
popped  corn,  and  ducked  for  apples,  and  played  hide-and- 
seek  all  over  the  house,  until  Kirsty  declared  they  were 
driving  her  clean  daft ;  and  that  wild  young  callant  was  far 
from  acting  like  a  minister  of  the  gospel. 

At  eight  o'clock  Mr.  Balfour  left  for  a  meeting  at  the 
church,  and  took  Nellie  to  her  home  when  he  went.  Janet 
went  into  the  kitchen  to  help  Kirsty  put  away  and  tidy  up 
after  the  fun.  Blackie  followed  them  to  and  fro,  purring 
loudly,  and  rubbing  insinuatingly  against  their  skirts,  his 
tail  on  high  like  a  banner,  his  head  raised  coaxingly.  He 
was  so  annoying  to  Kirsty  that,  to  Janet's  dismay,  she 
snatched  him  up,  and  sent  him  flying  out  into  the  cold 
dark  world;  and  shut  the  door  on  him  with  an  emphatic 
bang. 

Janet  moved  about  softly,  feeling  as  if  she  were  the  one 
to  blame.  The  night  was  mild,  and  Kirsty  had  left  the 
window  open;  and  the  little  girl  peered  out  into  the  dark 
garden  in  the  hope  that  she  might  discern  the  beloved  figure ; 
but  Blackie  was  invisible  on  a  dark  night. 

Kirsty  went  to  the  cellar  to  put  away  the  milk  and 
butter;  and  Janet  stood  holding  the  lamp  for  her  and  talk- 
ing over  Hallowe'en,  and  all  the  strange  tales  associated 


142  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

with  it.  She  had  many  questions  to  ask  concerning  war- 
locks, and  witches,  and  fairies,  and  their  magic  spells ;  and 
though  Kirsty  scoffed,  she  could  not  be  made  to  state  that 
there  were  really  no  such  things. 

"Huh !"  she  remarked,  when  Janet  pressed  the  question. 
"It's  only  thae  ignorant  Irish  that  believe  sic  like  things. 
But  there's  been  queer  things  happen  in  the  old  country 
that  my  mother  would  be  telling  me ;  and  they  happened  on 
Hallow  Eve  night,  too.  You  can't  tell,"  she  added,  in  a 
voice  that  made  a  chill  go  up  Janet's  spine.  "You  never 
can  tell." 

Meanwhile  Blackie  was  very  busy.  After  his  expulsion 
from  the  kitchen  he  had  reconnoitred,  and  found  that  the 
window  was  open ;  and  well  he  knew  that  the  table  stood 
right  against  it.  It  was  dark  in  the  kitchen  now,  just  as 
he  wanted  it.  One  silent  leap  to  the  old  bench  against 
the  kitchen  wall,  another  to  the  window  ledge,  and  he 
stepped  noiselessly  onto  the  table.  An  empty  salmon  can 
stood  right  under  his  nose;  and,  oh,  how  delicious  was  the 
smell  of  that  fish,  straight  from  a  British  Columbia  river. 
Blackie  grew  excited  over  the  delightful  aroma.  Kirsty 
generally  scraped  a  dish  so  that  there  was  not  a  morsel  left 
for  a  poor  cat;  but  her  sharp  eyes  had  missed  just  a  few 
titbits  this  time,  in  the  bottom  of  the  can.  Blackie  circled 
round  it.  He  reached  in  his  paw,  but  it  was  no  use.  He 
tried  to  shove  his  head  in,  but,  alas,  the  opening  was  too 
small,  and  the  jagged  edges  hurt.  He  grew  desperate;  he 
simply  must  have  that  bit  of  salmon,  and  there  was  so 
little  time. 

Footsteps  were  approaching;  the  next  moment  the  door 
opened;  the  light  of  the  lamp  streamed  in,  and  there  were 
Janet  and  Kirsty!  Blackie  made  a  last  frantic  attempt  to 
squeeze  his  head  into  the  can,  unmindful  of  the  pain  in 
the  thought  of  the  reward. 

Janet  uttered  a  dismayed  scream;  and  Kirsty  added  a 
shout, — "Hish !  Scat !  Oot  o'  that,  ye  villain !"  And  then 
the  queerest  thing  happened,  something  that,  even  with  the 
combined  testimony  of  the  two  witnesses,  could  never  be 


BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  143 

quite  credited.  But  what  Janet  and  Kirsty  saw,  and  what 
they  both  testified  to  solemnly,  was  that  Blackie  seized  the 
big  salmon  can  in  both  his  paws,  and  leaped  with  it  out  of 
the  window. 

Janet  gave  a  shill  squeal  of  astonishment;  and  Kirsty 
put  down  the  lamp  and  raising  her  hands  above  her  head 
ejaculated,  "The  good  Lord  preserve  us." 

They  ran  to  the  door  and  looked  out  into  the  yard,  half 
expecting  to  see  Blackie  carrying  the  can  through  the 
orchard.  But  it  was  too  dark  to  see  anything ;  so  Kirsty  lit 
the  lantern  and  they  went  out  on  a  cat  hunt ;  Janet  hanging 
on  to  Kirsty's  skirts,  fearing  she  knew  not  what.  But 
though  they  looked  in  every  corner,  there  was  no  Blackie, 
and  no  salmon  can.  They  searched  under  the  window ;  they 
searched  the  yard ;  and  the  orchard,  even  the  woodshed, 
where  he  might  be  supposed  to  have  carried  his  plunder. 
But  both  the  cat  and  the  can  had  vanished.  Kirsty  came 
back  into  the  kitchen  and  stared  at  the  table  as  though 
she  half  expected  that  her  sight  had  deceived  her,  and 
that  she  would  see  the  salmon  can  standing  there  after  all. 
Then  she  muttered  something  to  herself  about  "warlocks 
and  witches." 

Janet  rushed  to  her  mother  with  the  alarming  news. 
Blackie  had  vanished  into  the  night.  That  itself  was  not 
such  an  astonishing  thing;  for  he  had  a  bad  habit  of  van- 
ishing into  the  night,  and  being  very  noisy  about  it  after- 
wards, too;  but  he  had  taken  the  salmon  can,  and  it  had 
vanished  with  him !  Mrs.  Meldrum  followed  the  little  girl's 
tumultuous  race  back  to  the  kitchen;  and  listened  in  some 
amusement  to  the  excited  recital.  Kirsty  was  strangely 
silent  and  non-committal.  "But  Blackie's  only  run  away 
down  the  garden,  dear,"  said  her  mother  tolerantly. 

"But  the  salmon  can,  Mother!  It's  gone  with  him.  He 
took  it  in  his  paws.  Kirsty  and  I  saw  him." 

"He's  knocked  it  off  the  window  into  the  garden.  You'll 
find  it  under  the  bench." 

"Aye,  likely,"  said  Kirsty  darkly.  "It'll  be  ill  work 
findin'  it,  or  I'm  mistaken." 


144  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Mr.  Balf our  came  in  shortly  from  his  meeting ;  and,  hear- 
ing the  commotion,  came  out  to  the  kitchen  to  see  what  was 
the  matter.  He  laughed  so  hard  that  Janet  was  disposed 
to  see  the  funny  side  of  the  affair  herself.  He  took  the 
lantern,  and  searched  the  back  garden  for  the  salmon  can ; 
but  came  back  looking  puzzled.  "I  always  knew  Blackie 
was  an  unusually  hungry  cat,"  he  said.  "But  I  didn't  think 
he'd  swallow  a  tin  salmon  can.  But  it  seems  that's  what 
he's  done !" 

The  morning  revealed  signs  of  many  pranks  played  by 
the  Hallowe'en  witches.  Gates  were  gone;  jack-o'-lanterns 
were  hung  upon  doors;  and  the  ghastly  remains  of  ghosts 
lingered  in  fence-corners.  But  nowhere  was  there  any  sign 
of  Blackie  or  his  Hallowe'en  trick. 

Janet  was  up  early,  and  throwing  on  her  coat,  she  ran 
out  into  the  frosty  garden  to  look  for  her  lost  pet.  She 
went  up  and  down  the  orchard  and  garden,  and  even  out  into 
the  pasture-field  behind  the  church,  calling  him.  Pepper 
went  with  her,  barking,  and  running  to  and  fro  excitedly. 
And  every  few  minutes  he  would  stop  short,  and  take  to 
digging  frantically  in  the  earth,  sniffing  as  though  he  were 
sure  Blackie  had  hidden  himself  and  the  can  underground. 

"You  foolish  doggie,"  admonished  Janet.  "Blackie  isn't 
down  there,  Pepper.  I  think  the  witches  must  have  run 
away  with  him." 

Mr.  Balfour  saw  the  worried  little  searcher  from  his  bed- 
room window ;  and  descended,  to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any 
help.  He  had  to  admit  that  there  was  something  very 
queer  about  the  disappearance.  It  was  remarkable  that 
even  so  accomplished  a  thief  as  Blackie  could  make  away 
with  something  the  size  of  a  salmon  can.  He  began  to  lean 
towards  Pepper's  theory  that  the  cat  had  buried  his  booty. 

"Maybe  Blackie  turned  into  a  witch,  last  night,  Janet," 
he  suggested,  "and  the  salmon  can  into  a  broom  stick;  and 
we'll  see  him  riding  over  the  church  tower  some  dark, 
stormy  night." 

Janet  tried  to  smile,  but  failed.  Her  loss  was  too  great. 
Besides,  she  had  always  had  suspicions  that  Mr.  Balfour 


BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  145 

did  not  love  Blackie  very  passionately.  He  admitted  that 
he  liked  dogs  better  than  cats. 

She  was  sure  of  deep  sympathy  in  one  person,  however; 
and,  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  she  gained  a  reluctant 
permission  from  her  mother  to  run  over  to  the  Kellys  and 
see  if  Bud  knew  anything  of  the  truant.  She  tore  down  the 
garden  path,  through  the  hole  in  the  fence,  around  behind 
the  church,  and  burst  tumultuously  into  the  Kelly  woodshed. 
The  Kellys  had  had  a  grand  celebration  the  night  before ; 
and  breakfast  was  late.  Tim  was  in  the  woodshed,  chop- 
ping some  kindling  for  the  morning's  fire,  and  Bud  was  just 
emerging  from  the  back  door  to  take  his  turn  at  the  little 
tin  washbasin  beside  the  pump. 

Janet  gathered  them  about  her  in  the  kitchen;  and  told 
the  calamity  that  had  befallen.  They  clustered  around  her 
breathless,  Mrs.  Kelly  holding  up  amazed  hands,  covered 
with  dough  from  the  bread  she  was  mixing. 

Janet  told  her  story  graphically.  He  vanished,  she  de- 
clared. That's  what  he  did ;  just  like  a  ghost !  And  the 
salmon  can  had  vanished  too ! 

Bud,  and  Tim,  and  Rosie,  and  even  little  Jimsey,  all  fol- 
lowed Janet  back  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy;  but  though 
they  searched  till  they  were  all  late  for  school,  they  had 
no  reward  for  their  labours,  except  an  extra  half-hour's 
work  after  four  o'clock. 

They  spread  the  sad  news  at  school ;  and  a  search  through 
the  village  was  instituted.  Even  Old  Watty  Sinclair  be- 
came interested  in  the  case,  when  Janet  brought  the  news 
with  his  "Globe";  and  he  promised  to  keep  a  sharp  ear  for 
Blackie's  night  song,  should  he  happen  anywhere  near  the 
Old  Bradley  House. 

But  the  days  went  by  and  Blackie  did  not  return,  and 
the  mystery  deepened.  His  loss  was  a  tragedy  to  Janet; 
and  the  manner  of  his  disappearing  was  alarming.  She 
developed  an  entirely  new  set  of  nerves;  and  was  afraid 
to  go  down  the  garden  path  alone  after  darkness  had  fallen ; 
and  she  fell  into  the  habit  of  creeping  into  her  mother's 
bed  at  night,  in  terror  of  the  dread  something  that  might 


146  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

snatch  uer  through  the  window,  the  way  Blackie  had  been 
snatched. 

Mrs.  Meldrum  felt  that  Janet's  mind  was  dwelling  too 
long  upon  the  subject;  and  held  long  and  exhaustive  argu- 
ments with  her  over  it,  from  all  of  which  Janet  rather  came 
out  victorious. 

But  Mr.  Balfour  saw  that  the  little  girl  was  still  suffer- 
ing, not  only  from  grief  at  the  loss  of  her  playmate,  but 
from  vague  and  harmful  fears;  and  he  set  himself  to  re- 
lieve the  situation. 

He  first  tried  some  amateur  detective  work.  He  had  a 
suspicion  that  Kirsty  knew  more  of  the  tragedy  than  she 
would  confess ;  but  on  questioning,  he  found  he  had  wronged 
her. 

"Eh,  eh,  Mr.  Balfour,"  she  declared,  "I  didn't  like  the 
crater;  but  I  jist  wish  he'd  come  back;  and  that's  the  truth. 
It's  fearsome  the  way  he  was  took;  an'  that's  all  about  it. 
I  always  said  he  was  no  canny ;  aye,  aye,  no  canny." 

He  next  interviewed  the  Kelly  boys  in  the  back  pasture, 
whither  he  often  went  on  a  Saturday  morning  with  Janet, 
to  join  the  ball  game.  He  was  soon  equally  convinced  of 
their  innocence.  Even  Tim  Kelly,  he  found,  was  under 
Janet's  spell;  and  was  incapable  of  playing  a  Hallowe'en 
trick  on  anything  belonging  to  her. 

So  he  took  Janet  into  the  study  one  evening,  and  told 
her  that  she  must  make  Blackie's  disappearance  an  occasion 
for  singing  in  her  heart.  "Special  occasions  require  special 
music,"  he  reminded  her.  "Remember  how  the  choir  prac- 
tised for  the  anniversary.  And  if  you  stop  your  silent  sing- 
ing while  Blackie's  away,  you  may  forget  how  to  sing 
altogether ;  and  think  what  a  calamity  that  would  be." 

Janet  smiled  up  at  him  from  where  she  sat  by  the  fire, 
with  Pepper  lying  by  her  side,  but  no  pussy  on  her  lap.  It 
was  not  a  very  gay  smile,  however. 

"Suppose  we  start  by  singing  out  loud,"  he  said.  "Let's 
try  'Hammer  and  Tongs.'  " 

Mr.  Balfour  often  sang  this  old  sea  song,  and  insisted 
upon  Janet  singing  it  with  him.  For,  he  explained,  it  had 


BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  147 

no  tune  anyway,  and  the  singer  only  had  to  use  the  words 
and  make  a  great  deal  of  noise.  So  they  were  soon  singing 
at  the  tops  of  their  voices. 

"Odds,  bobs,  hammer  and  tongs, 
Long  as  I've  been  to  sea, 
I've  fought  'gainst  every  odds, 
And  I've  gained  the  victoree!" 

And  they  made  such  a  noise  that  Kirsty  heard  it  in  the 
kitchen ;  and,  in  spite  of  her  growing  regard  for  the  young 
minister,  she  felt  some  misgivings. 

When  the  ten  verses  of  the  old  chantey  were  finished, 
with  a  great  deal  of  accompanying  "Heave-Hos,"  and  "Pull- 
away-my-lads,"  Mr.  Balfour  once  more  grappled  with  the 
sore  subject  of  Blackie. 

"Let's  have  a  song  about  Blackie  going  away,"  he  sug- 
gested. "I  know  you  could  make  up  one  if  you  tried.  You 
run  off  to  your  room  and  make  up  a  verse  for  us  to  sing. 
See  that  the  lines  rhyme  at  the  end,  and  then  we'll  sing  it 
together  without  a  tune.  Tunes  are  a  great  bother  anyway." 

Janet  looked  up  at  him  with  shining  eyes.  "Oh,  Mr.  Bal- 
four," she  declared.  "I  do  think  you  are  the  most  wonder- 
fulest  inventor!" 

She  dashed  off  to  her  own  room ;  and  he  took  down  the 
little  flag  and  softly  closed  the  door.  He  was  so  busy  for 
the  next  half  hour  that  he  forgot  all  about  the  affair,  until 
he  opened  the  door  and  almost  stumbled  over  the  little 
poetess.  She  was  sitting  patiently  on  a  stool,  right  in. the 
doorway,  waiting  for  him,  with  a  sheet  of  foolscap  spread 
out  on  her  lap.  Only  three  lines  had  been  written;  and 
the  would-be  authoress  was  chewing  her  pencil  desperately. 

"There's  something  wrong  with  it,"  she  declared,  looking 
up  at  him  appealingly.  "There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any 
word  in  the  world  that  will  rhyme  with  Blackie." 

Mr.  Balfour  was  going  out;  but  he  sat  down  again  to 
deal  with  this  serious  problem.  "Let  me  see,  now,"  he 
mused.  "Blackie;  what  word  would  rhyme  with  Blackie? 
What  have  you  written?" 


148  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

She  handed  him  her  paper  and  he  read  aloud: 

"I  had  a  pussy-cat  so  dear, 
I  called  him  Blackie, 
But  something  happened  to  him  very  queer." 

"That's  splendid  so  far !"  he  cried. 

"But  I  can't  make  up  the  next  line  until  I  get  the  last 
word,"  said  Janet.  "And  I  can't  think  of  anything  to  rhyme 
with  Blackie." 

"I  can't  either,  just  now — except  lackey." 

"Lackey?    What's  that?" 

"A  servant.    Do  you  think  you  could  work  that  in  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Blackie  wasn't  a  bit  like  a  servant.  He 
never  wanted  to  do  anything  but  lie  beside  the  fire." 

"That's  so;  he  was  too  much  the  aristocrat  to  be  called 
a  lackey.  Now,  let's  think  again." 

"I  know  one  word,"  said  Janet  hesitatingly,  "but  I'm 
afraid  Mother  wouldn't  like  it.  It's  not  a  very  nice  word." 
She  glanced  at  him  from  under  her  long  lashes.  "Bud's 
father  says  it,"  she  added,  when  he  looked  at  her  encour- 
agingly. "He  always  says  when  he  comes  into  the  house, 

he  says "  Her  voice  fell  to  a  whisper.  "He  says,  'By 

cracky,  why  can't  you  have  a  fellow's  supper  ready?'  It's 
not  very  nice,  I'm  afraid,  but  it's  a  lovely  rhyme." 

Mr.  Balfour  did  not  seem  to  think  it  would  be  so  very 
dreadful,  considering  the  poverty  of  their  vocabulary ;  but 
he  managed  to  do  without  it  by  finishing  her  poem  with  a 
manufactured  word: 

"I  had  a  pussy-cat  so  dear, 
I  called  him  Blackie, 

But  something  happened  to  him  very  queer, 
And  now  he  won't  come  backie!" 

Janet  laughed  aloud  at  this ;  and  Mr.  Balfour  was  so  much 
encouraged  that  he  wrote  a  poem  himself;  dashing  it  off, 
as  he  stood  by  his  desk,  without  even  stopping  to  think, 
Janet  believed. 


BLACKIE  JOINS  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE  149 

"There  once  was  a  pussy,  named  Blackie, 
Who  wasn't  a  bit  like  a  lackey, 
For  on  a  dark  night 
He  eloped  away,  quite, 
With  a  big  can  of  salmon,  by  Cracky !" 

And  when  Mr.  Balfour  sang  it  to  the  tune  of  a  funny 
old  college  song,  that  did  not  suit  it  in  the  least,  Janet  went 
into  screams  of  laughter. 

It  proved  to  be  great  fun,  this  writing  songs  and  singing 
them ;  and  he  left"  her  struggling  with  a  second  stanza  for 
his  poem;  and  singing  the  first  one,  strictly  according  to 
arrangement,  without  a  tune. 

With  the  help  of  many  such  rhymes,  Janet  was  able  to 
take  up  her  silent  singing  once  more. 

"I'm  really  feeling  awfully  bad  about  Blackie,  yet,"  she 
said  to  her  mother,  half  apologising  for  her  gaiety,  "but 
I'm  trying  to  sing  about  him  down  in  my  stomach;  even 
when  I  feel  the  worst." 

Her  mother  smiled  indulgently,  and  patted  the  little 
towsled  head  lovingly.  "What  would  I  do  without  my  little 
silent  singer?"  she  asked,  and  went  on  with  her  work. 

Although  Janet  had  '.regained  her  accustomed  spirits, 
Hugh  Balfour  noticed  that,  as  soon  as  she  came  home  from 
school,  she  ran  rown  through  the  orchard  and  garden,  call- 
ing her  lost  pet's  name.  Sometimes  there  was  a  very  plain- 
tive note  in  the  call ;  but  she  always  came  back  skipping. 

On  a  cold,  stormy  Saturday,  nearly  two  weeks  after 
Blackie's  disappearance,  the  family  were  sitting  at  their 
dinner,  when  Janet  glanced  through  the  window  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  front  lawn.  She  gave  a  cry  of 
delight  and  astonishment. 

"Why,  there's  Mr.  Watty !    And  he's  coming  in  here !" 

Sure  enough.  It  was  really  old  Watty  Sinclair,  who  had 
never  stepped  inside  anyone's  gate,  except  Dr.  Gillespie's, 
since  he  came  to  Cherry  Hill.  He  was  carrying  something 
under  his  arm ;  and  as  he  caught  sight  of  Janet  at  the  win- 
dow, he  waved  his  stick  at  her. 

Janet  flew  to  the  front  door;  flung  it  open;  and  ran  out 


150  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

to  greet  the  old  man.  Mr.  Balfour  took  one  glance  through 
the  window;  and  he,  too,  left  the  table  with  scarcely  time 
for  an  apology,  and  ran  after  Janet.  For  the  bundle  old 
Watty  carried  was  a  big,  black  cat !  Blackie  and  the  salmon 
can,  too!  A  dreadful,  thin,  bedraggled  Blackie  it  was, 
uttering  piteous  cries,  that  were  smothered  in  the  strange 
head-dress  he  wore.  For  there  he  was,  like  an  old  Knight 
caught  in  his  own  helmet, — a  veritable  skeleton  in  armor. 
The  mystery  was  explained ;  Blackie  had  stuck  his  head  into 
the  salmon  can,  and  had  not  been  able  to  remove  it.  And 
thus  he  had  been  wandering  about,  blinded  and  muzzled  ; 
a  solemn  warning  to  all  greedy  cats ;  the  victim  of  his  own 
ungovernable  appetite! 

Old  Watty  was  trembling  with  excitement,  as  he  tried 
to  explain;  while  Janet  danced  around  him  like  a  de- 
mented child. 

He  had  found  him,  the  old  man  managed  to  make  known, 
blundering  about  one  of  the  back  sheds  of  the  old  Bradley 
House.  How  he  got  there  no  one  knew ;  but  there  he  must 
have  died  a  prisoner  had  Old  Watty  not  heard  him  banging 
about  and  gone  to  the  rescue. 

Mr.  Balfour  seized  the  prodigal ;  and,  taking  hold  of  his 
head-dress,  wrenched  it  off.  Blackie  came  out  with  a  ter- 
rible yowl ;  and  leaping  from  his  rescuers,  he  bolted  straight 
for  the  back  yard,  like  a  big  black  butterfly  burst  from  a 
rusty  cocoon.  Janet  dashed  after  him ;  but  Blackie's  period 
of  imprisonment  and  starvation  had  so  terrified  him  that 
he  feared  even  his  best  friend.  He  shot  up  to  his  old 
hunting  ground  in  the  woodshed  loft,  and  at  Mr.  Balfour's 
advice,  Janet  left  him  until  such  time  as  his  nerves  should 
grow  quiet.  She  dragged  Old  Watty  into  the  house,  and 
made  him  tell  the  wonderful  story  of  the  rescue  over  and 
over  again.  He  had  come  away  in  such  a  hurry  he  had 
not  taken  time  to  get  his  dinner;  and  Mrs.  Meldrum  made 
the  old  man  sit  down  with  the  family.  And  so  Old  Watty 
made  his  first  entry  into  a  home  in  Cherry  Hill,  by  way  of 
Janet's  cat. 

Blackie's  ruling  passion  soon  overcame  the  terrors  of  his 


exile.  He  crawled  weakly  and  humbly  to  the  back  door; 
and  was  fed  and  petted  and  mourned  over  and  rejoiced 
over  by  Janet.  And  how  he  drank !  Saucer  after  saucer  of 
milk  disappeared,  until  Kirsty  advised  that  more  might 
injure  him  in  his  starved  condition.  She  arranged  a  mat  for 
him  in  a  cosy  corner  behind  the  stove ;  and  Janet  put  him 
tenderly  to  bed,  where  he  immediately  curled  up  and  went 
to  sleep. 

To  everyone's  surprise,  Kirsty  actually  seemed  relieved 
at  his  return;  and  the  discovery  that  there  was  nothing 
supernatural  about  his  disappearance.  And  it  was  not  long 
after  that  she  was  heard  to  say  that  yon  daft  buddy,  Old 
Watty  Sinclair,  seemed  to  be  some  use  in  the  world,  after 
all. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD 

FROM  that  day  of  Blackie's  return  a  change  seemed  to 
come  over  Old  Watty.  Janet  had  brought  the  outside 
world  to  him ;  and  now  Janet's  cat  had  brought  him  to  the 
outside  world  again.  He  began  to  limp  to  a  neighbour's 
occasionally ;  quite  often  to  the  Manse ;  and  a  few  Sundays 
after  Blackie's  rescue,  he  put  on  his  best  clothes,  and  came 
hobbling  up  to  church.  And  until  the  snow  held  him  a 
prisoner  in  his  old  ruined  fortress,  he  was  there  in  the 
back  seat  every  Sunday ;  and  he  always  lingered  at  the  door 
until  Janet  darted  back  for  a  word  with  him  before  he 
left. 

"You  are  a  real,  little  missionary,"  Mr.  Balfour  said  to 
her  one  morning,  as  they  walked  home  from  church,  after 
saying  good-bye  to  Old  Watty  at  the  door. 

"A  missionary?"  asked  Janet  in  surprised  delight.  "But 
a  missionary  has  to  go  away  to  China,  or  some  place  far 
away." 

"Not  at  all.  There  are  plenty  of  missionaries  who  never 
go  away  from  their  own  doorstep." 

Old  Gibbie  Gibson's  John,  who  intended  to  be  a  minister 
like  Mr.  Balfour  some  day,  and  who  was  studying  in  the 
High  School  in  Algonquin,  was  walking  on  the  other  side 
of  Janet. 

"Speaking  of  missionaries,  Mr.  Balfour,"  he  said.  "Your 
old  friend  Cameron  told  me  last  week  that  you  joined  the 
Student  Volunteers  at  college.  Did  you  ?" 

Mr.  Balfour  nodded.  Janet  glanced  up  at  him  swiftly, 
and  saw  that  his  eyes  were  shining.  "Yes,  I  want  just  one 

152 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD        153 

more  year ;  and  then  I  hope  to  go  to  the  Foreign  field,  some- 
where; if  they'll  take  me." 

She  did  not  hear  the  rest  of  the  conversation,  so  anxious 
was  she  to  ask  what  was  meant  by  Student  Volunteers. 
John  Gibbie  came  in  for  dinner;  and  there  was  no  oppor- 
tunity at  the  table;  for  her  mother's  prohibitive  eye  was 
constantly  turned  in  her  direction,  when  there  was  company 
at  the  table. 

She  waited  in  a  fever  of  impatience  till  the  meal  was 
over;  and  just  as  they  were  going  upstairs  to  the  study,  she 
caught  Mr.  Balfour's  hand  and  drew  him  aside. 

"Please,  please,  Mr.  Balfour,  won't  you  tell  me  what  a 
Student  Volunteer  is?  And  how  are  you  one?  Is  it  like 
being  one  of  the  Volunteers,  and  wearing  a  red  coat,  like 
Bud's  father  does  sometimes?" 

Mr.  Balfour  laughed.  "Not  exactly,"  he  explained. 
"And  yet  it  is  being  a  soldier ;  a  soldier  of  the  Cross.  Some 
soldiers  stay  at  home  and  guard  their  country,  and  others 
have  to  sail  away  to  foreign  lands  and  fight  the  enemy 
there.  And  I  happen  to  be  one  of  those  that's  been  ordered 
away.  And  that  means  that  I  hope  to  be  a  missionary  some 
day,  in  a  heathen  country." 

Janet  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  glowing. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour !"  she  burst  forth.  "I  didn't  know  you 
were  so  good,  and  so  brave !" 

He  laughed  aloud  at  that.  "It's  neither  good  nor  brave, 
little  Jenny  Melody;  not  the  least  bit;  because  I  want  to 
go ;  and  I  wouldn't  be  happy  if  I  had  to  stay  at  home." 

"But  what  will  we  do  without  you  ?"  she  asked  in  sudden 
dismay.  "Oh,  I  don't  want  you  to  go  so  far  away !"  Then 
she  suddenly  brightened.  "When  I  get  big  I'm  going  to  be 
a  Volunteer,  too ;  and  go  wherever  you  go !  Won't  that  be 
lovely?" 

"That  would  be  about  the  loveliest  thing  that  ever  hap- 
pened," he  declared,  and  then  her  mother  came  out  of  the 
dining-room,  her  Sabbath  silk  rustling  softly,  John  Gibbie 
with  her;  and  Janet  had  to  subside.  She  went  away  to 
her  room  to  change  her  church  dress  for  one  less  liable  to 


154  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

accidents,  wondering  whether  she  was  glad  or  sorry.  She 
sat  down  on  the  floor,  and  laced  up  her  school  boots  all 
criss-cross  in  her  indecision.  She  had  the  same  dreadful 
feeling  in  her  heart  at  the  thought  of  Mr.  Bal  four's  going 
so  far  away  as  she  had  experienced  when  Daddy  left  for 
California.  She  was  quite  sure  that  when  he  went  to  India 
or  China,  or  wherever  it  was  he  was  going,  she  would  never 
again  be  able  to  sing  in  her  heart  or  out  loud  either,  no 
matter  if  she  had  a  dozen  operations  on  her  throat  and 
ears.  And  yet,  she  was  conscious  of  a  strange  feeling  of 
joy.  It  was  glorious  to  think  that  he  was  so  good  and  so 
brave.  She  had  thought  him  perfect  before;  but  now  he 
seemed  to  have  added  a  sort  of  lustre  to  his  perfection, 
that  set  him  apart  on  a  shelf  of  his  own. 

Janet  confided  her  new  ambition  to  Nellie,  as  they  played 
with  their  dolls  on  Saturday  afternoon  in  Janet's  bedroom. 

"I'm  not  going  to  be  a  singer,"  Nellie  declared,  "now  that 
you're  not,  Janet.  I  think  I'd  rather  be  a  hired  girl,  anyway. 
Hired  girls  always  do  whatever  they  like;  they  can  bake 
cakes  and  have  anything  they  like  to  eat." 

They  had  just  been  turned  out  of  the  kitchen  by  Kirsty  ; 
and  Janet  was  inclined  to  agree  with  Nellie  that  the  servant 
in  the  house  held  an  enviable  position. 

"I  guess  I'll  be  one,  too,  'cause  I  know  I'll  never  be  able 
to  sing  like  Sylvia  Ward,"  she  said,  and  then  she  suddenly 
remembered  her  great  destiny. 

"Oh,  no,  I  can't ;  I  forgot.    I'm  going  to  be  a  missionary." 

"A  missionary?"  Nellie's  blue  eyes  grew  big.  "Oh, 
Janet,  don't !  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away.  And  mission- 
aries have  to  go  away  off  to  Africa  or  somewhere;  and 
there's  snakes  and  crocodiles  always  where  they  are,  that 
bite  you !" 

Janet  was  slightly  shaken  in  her  resolution.  "Mr.  Bal- 
four  wouldn't  be  afraid,"  she  said  suddenly  brightening. 
"He  could  shoo  away  the  biggest  crocodile  that  ever  grew." 

"Is  Mr.  Balf our  going  to  be  a  missionary,  too  ?" 

"Yes;  he's  a  volunteer  missionary,  like  Bud's  father, 
only  different.  And  he's  going  away  to  preach  the  gospel 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       155 

to  every  creature;  and  I  promised  I'd  go  with  him  when  I 
got  big." 

Nellie  took  up  Janet's  best  doll  and  began  to  undress  it. 

"Then  I  bet  Sylvia  Ward  won't  marry  him,"  she  remarked 
with  uncanny  wisdom. 

"Who?  Was  she  going  to  marry  Mr.  Balfour?"  asked 
Janet,  all  interest. 

"Imph-m-m.  Marjorie  says  Sylvia's  liked  Mr.  Balfour 
ever  since  she  was  here  for  the  anniversary.  Only  she's 
scared  he'll  be  a  missionary;  and  so  she  won't  go  with  him 
much  till  she  finds  out  what  he's  goin'  to  do.  I  heard  them 
talking  about  it  one  day;  and  Marjorie  made  Mother  send 
me  out  of  the  room,  just  at  the  very  best  place!  I  think 
the  girls  are  as  mean  as  mean,  Janet.  They  won't  ever  tell 
me  a  thing ;  and  they  talk  and  talk  about  things  that  I  don't 
know  about.  Get  out  your  Princess  Patricia,  and  let's  dress 
her  up  again." 

Janet  took  the  big  doll  out  of  the  drawer.  She  was  not 
particularly  fond  of  dolls  herself.  They  were  useful  to 
wile  away  a  rainy  afternoon,  when  one  could  not  run  out 
and  play;  but  her  active  body  and  mind  required  something 
with  more  life.  Even  Leola  palled  when  the  Kellys  were 
playing  hounds  and  hare  in  the  back  pasture. 

"Let's  pretend  that  they're  all  heathens,"  she  suggested, 
"and  we'll  preach  to  them." 

"I  think  I'll  be  a  missionary,  too,  Janet,"  Nellie  said,  fired 
to  enthusiasm  by  Janet's  sermon.  "I  don't  think  I'd  mind 
going  so  very  much  if  Mr.  Balfour  was  with  us.  And  it 
would  serve  Marj  and  Bell  good  and  right  if  I  went  away. 
They'd  be  sorry  they  were  so  mean  and  whispered  at  night, 
if  I  went  away  to  China  and  got  et  up  by  the  crocodiles !" 

Janet  was  so  fascinated  with  the  idea  of  being  a  mis- 
sionary that,  as  a  beginning,  she  began  infusing  new  life 
into  the  Mission  Band.  This  little  organisation  was  com- 
posed of  a  half-dozen  little  girls,  and  Lennie  Caldwell ;  and 
Janet  took  upon  herself  the  heavy  task  of  making  Bud  and 
Tim  and  some  of  the  other  village  boys  attend. 

She  was  succeeding  beyond  her  hopes,  when  the  Christ- 


156  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

mas  holidays  fell  upon  her  and  separated  her  from  her 
fellows.  Next  to  clothes,  Janet's  chief  trouble  in  life  was 
vacations.  They  blotted  out  all  the  stir  and  joy  and  com- 
radeship of  school;  and  shut  her  away  in  the  old  grey  house 
beyond  the  church,  to  spend  her  days  in  loneliness. 

The  first  day  of  the  holidays  being  Monday,  and  wash- 
day, Kirsty  found  Janet  and  the  washing  combined  too 
much  for  her  nerves;  and  finally  ordered  her  out  of  the 
kitchen,  saying  that  she  would  drive  her  clean  daft  with 
her  noise  and  her  capers.  Janet  took  her  dog  and  her 
restored  cat,  and  her  troublesome  self  upstairs,  wondering 
what  she  would  do.  Singing  and  making  melody  in  your 
heart  was  a  very  fine  exercise  indeed,  but  it  did  not  take 
all  one's  time,  and  what  was  one  to  do  in  between?  There 
was  no  welcoming  flag  on  the  study  door ;  though  she  could 
hear  Mr.  Balfour  whistling,  just  on  the  other  side  of  it. 
He  seemed  so  happy  that  Janet's  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"Mr.  Balfour's  been  whistling  all  morning,"  she  said, 
pausing  at  the  door  of  her  mother's  room  where  the  sewing 
machine  was  whirring.  "I  guess  he  wouldn't  be  so  happy 
if  he  had  holidays.  Mother,  don't  you  think  holidays  are 
a  mistake  ?" 

Her  mother  was  in  the  midst  of  a  rather  intricate  piece 
of  sewing — an  attempt  to  make  a  dress  for  Janet  out  of  an 
old  skirt  of  her  own — and  she  answered  absently,  "Yes,  dear, 
I  suppose  so." 

"Poor  Daddy  must  be  awfully  tired  of  them.  He's  had 
nearly  four  months  of  them  now.  When  I  get  big  maybe 
I'll  teach  school,  like  Miss  Mitchell,  before  I  go  to  be  a 
missionary;  and  if  I  do  I  won't  ever  send  the  boys  and 
girls  away  from  school.  I'll  just  stay  there  all  the  time 
and  have  a  good  time  with  them." 

Her  mother  smiled  at  this,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  take 
much  interest  in  the  subject ;  so  Janet  ran  to  her  own  room 
to  take  refuge  in  writing  a  long  letter  to  her  father,  com- 
miserating him  upon  the  dreary  length  of  his  holidays.  But 
the  letter  did  not  take  very  long ;  and  only  a  very  small  part 
of  the  day  was  used  up.  Even  Leola  could  not  be  roused 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       157 

to  be  entertaining.  Since  her  eleventh  birthday,  Janet  had 
been  calling  less  and  less  upon  Leola  as  a  companion. 

The  afternoon  brought  relief.  It  was  a  bitterly  cold  day, 
and  Mrs.  Meldrum  was  forced  to  admit  that  Old  Watty 
would  not  be  able  to  get  out  for  his  paper;  so  Janet  was 
permitted  to  take  it  to  him. 

"Please,  Mother,  let  me  call  and  see  if  Bud's  cold's 
better,"  she  pleaded,  as  she  rapturously  flung  on  her  coat. 

"I'd  much  rather  you  wouldn't,  dear,"  said  her  mother, 
looking  up  from  her  desk.  "You  might  catch  the  cold." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  sure  I  won't,  Mother.  I  promise  I  won't.  I 
won't  go  near  Bud.  I'll  just  stand  away  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  and  holler  at  him.  Please,  Mother." 

Janet  was  dragging  on  one  rubber,  balancing  herself  on 
one  foot,  and  hopping  around  the  room  like  a  crazy  sparrow. 
She  looked  so  funny  that  her  mother  laughed  aloud ;  and 
Janet  knew  the  argument  was  won. 

"Well,  go  then,  darling,"  her  mother  said,  unable  to 
look  stern,  "but  remember  you  must  stay  just  a  very  few 
minutes." 

Janet  dashed  into  her  bedroom,  tore  open  the  bureau 
drawer,  and  took  out  a  carefully  hoarded  orange  and  some 
candy  Mr.  Balfour  had  brought  her  from  town.  She 
wrapped  them  up  hurriedly  in  a  newspaper;  stuck  the 
shapeless  parcel  under  one  arm;  and,  having  shut  Pepper 
in  the  back  hall,  she  skipped  away,  as  glad  as  a  wild 
bird  freed  from  its  cage. 

She  found  Bud  sitting  by  the  stove,  looking  better,  but 
still  with  a  terrible  cough.  Molly  was  baking  bread;  and 
her  mother  was  sewing.  The  kitchen  was  in  the  joyous 
litter  that  it  generally  presented  when  all  the  children  were 
in  it.  Corny  rolled  over  on  the  floor,  and  cooed  and  gurgled, 
and  was  as  gay  and  jolly  as  a  baby  could  possibly  be. 

Since  the  father  of  the  family  had  gone  to  "the  Shanties," 
as  he  did  every  winter,  meals  were  more  erratic  than  ever ; 
and,  though  the  afternoon  was  half  spent,  the  wreck  of  the 
Kelly  dinner  was  still  on  the  table.  Its  confusion  was  aug- 
mented by  the  presence  of  school  books,  coats  and  caps, 


158  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Mrs.  Kelly's  sewing,  and  the  last  family  laundry,  still  un- 
ironed.  But  there  was  a  roaring  fire  in  the  stove ;  and  now 
that  the  father  of  the  family  was  safely  removed  for  the 
winter,  everybody  seemed  happy.  Janet  gave  Corny  the 
orange,  setting  him  shouting  with  glee ;  and,  completely  for- 
getting her  promise  to  her  mother,  she  rushed  over  to  Bud, 
and  pressed  the  candy  into  his  hot  little  hands. 

"Come  on  out  with  me  and  Nellie,  Rosie,  will  you?"  she 
asked.  "We're  going  to  take  Mr.  Watty  his  paper." 

Rosie,  who  was  making  a  vague  attempt  to  clear  the 
table,  shook  her  towsled  head  in  deep  disappointment. 

"She  can't  go  to-day,  Jinit,"  said  Mrs.  Kelly.  "Rosie's 
got  no  coat,  poor  child,  that  she  hasn't.  But  I'm  makin'  over 
Molly's  for  her  now;  and  it'll  be  ready  agin  to-morrow." 

"And  I'm  to  wear  Ma's  old  one,"  said  Molly,  cheerfully. 
"And  Ma's  not  goin'  out  this  winter  anyway;  but  if  she 
does  she's  goin'  to  wear  her  shawl." 

Janet  went  away  alone,  very  slowly.  Something  was 
coming  up  into  her  throat  and  threatening  to  choke  her. 
It  hurt  dreadfully,  away  down  in  the  place  where  she 
wanted  to  sing,  to  think  of  Mrs.  Kelly  with  only  her  old 
shawl  for  the  winter;  of  Molly  wearing  her  mother's  old 
coat  at  school,  where  the  big  girls  like  Aggie  Wright  were 
sure  to  laugh;  and  of  Rosie  with  no  coat  at  all  for  the 
present.  And  Janet  herself  had  the  warm  heavy  cloth  coat 
she  was  wearing;  and  at  home,  in  the  closet,  hung  a  navy 
blue  velvet  one,  that  Aunt  Flora  had  sent  on  her  last  birth- 
day. She  ran  swiftly  down  the  street,  the  bitter  wind  mak- 
ing little  icicles  of  the  tears  she  was  winking  desperately 
away. 

Nellie  spied  Janet  from  the  front  window  and  came 
running  to  throw  open  the  door.  The  two  little  girls  rushed 
into  each  other's  arms.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  for 
fully  twenty-four  hours. 

"Oh,  goody !  I'd  love  to  go  to  Mr.  Watty's !"  cried  Nellie 
when  she  heard  Janet's  errand.  "Come  on  in.  Who  d'you 
suppose  is  here,  Janet?" 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       159 

"Miss  Lena  ?"  asked  Janet  eagerly.  "Imph-n-n ;  but  some- 
body else,  too.  Oh,  you'd  never  guess!" 

Janet  did  not  guess,  for  it  was  almost  too  good  to  be 
true.  When  Nellie  led  her  into  the  living-room,  there, 
before  the  open  grate  fire,  sat  the  lovely  Miss  Sylvia  Ward, 
who  had  sung  so  sweetly  at  the  anniversary.  She  was  just 
as  beautiful  and  bright  and  delightful  as  she  had  been  on 
her  last  visit.  And  she  wore  the  most  wonderful  dress, 
Janet  was  sure,  that  anyone  in  the  world  had  ever  seen.  It 
was  a  soft,  transparent,  golden-brown,  that  looked  like 
amber  in  the  firelight ;  and  her  fluffy  hair,  piled  high  on  her 
pretty  head,  was  a  deeper,  darker,  and  richer  gold.  She 
sat  in  a  low  rocking-chair,  with  her  little  feet  on  the  hearth ; 
with  Marjorie  and  Mrs.  Gillespie  on  one  side  of  her,  and 
Miss  Lena  on  the  other;  and  Fred  Gillespie,  Nellie's  big 
brother,  was  lolling  on  the  sofa  staring  at  her. 

Nellie  went  upstairs  to  get  ready;  and  Janet  seated  her- 
self on  the  sofa  beside  Fred ;  and  joined  him  in  gazing  ad- 
miringly at  the  vision  before  the  fire. 

"Poor  old  Uncle  Watty!"  the  vision  said,  laughing. 
"You're  surely  not  lending  him  the  'Globe'  yet!  Lena, 
why  doesn't  the  clan  Sinclair  take  up  a  collection,  and  give 
the  poor  old  cross  patch  a  life's  subscription?" 

"He  wouldn't  take  it,"  sighed  Lena. 

"Not  on  your  life !"  cried  Fred.  "You  don't  know  your 
Uncle  Watty,  Sylvia.  Why,  he'd  sooner  take  the  'Mail' 
from  us  than  soil  his  hands  by  taking  the  'Globe'  from  his 
relations." 

"I'd  like  to  send  him  the  'Mail'  sometime,"  cried  Sylvia. 
"If  I  could  be  there  to  see  his  reception  of  a  Tory  news- 
paper. I've  half  a  mind  to  send  him  a  year's  subscription 
for  Christmas." 

"He'd  burn  the  post-office  down,"  prophesied  Fred. 
"Say,  though,  wouldn't  it  be  jolly-o  to  send  the  old  codger 
the  'Mail'  some  day,  just  by  mistake;  and  see  if  the  roof 
of  the  Bradley  House  would  blow  off." 

Sylvia  Ward  suddenly  sat  up  very  straight ;  and  her  eyes 
shone  a  deeper  golden  brown  than  her  dress. 


160  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Have  you  yesterday's  'Mail'  ?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  ashamed  to  say  Father  takes  it,"  admitted  Fred. 
"But  I  hope  you'll  understand  that  it's  only  because  he  feels 
it  his  duty  to  watch  the  unprincipled  wretches  who — 
Hello,  Sylvie,  where  are  you  going?" 

For  Sylvia  had  jumped  up;  and,  catching  Marjorie  by 
the  hand,  danced  her  away  out  into  the  dining-room. 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter,  as  soon  as  they  had  dis- 
appeared; and  Marjorie's  voice  cried,  "Oh,  Sylvie!  You're 
just  as  bad  as  ever!"  Then  Marjorie's  head  was  popped 
in  at  the  door,  her  face  crimson  with  laughter.  "Fred! 
Lena!"  she  called.  "Come  here — quick!" 

Fred  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  the  two  ran  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  Janet  could  hear  more  laughter.  It  was  all  very 
mysterious,  though  very  delightful,  and  she  laughed  too, 
just  because  laughter  was  always  infectious.  Mrs.  Gillespie 
glanced  indulgently  towards  the  dining-room  door,  and 
shook  her  head.  "Children,  what  mischief  are  you  up  to 
now  ?"  she  asked.  But  as  this  was  merely  a  rhetorical  ques- 
tion, which  no  one  was  expected  to  answer,  no  one  paid  any 
attention ;  and  the  laughter  grew  louder. 

Marjorie's  head  was  popped  in  again.  "Bell,  bring 
Mother's  scissors  and  come  here,  quick !"  Isabel,  a  tall  girl 
home  from  High  School  for  the  holidays,  snatched  the 
scissors  from  her  mother's  basket ;  and  Fred  dashed  out  of 
the  dining-room  and  ran  upstairs,  his  sister  shouting  after 
him  that  the  paste  was  on  Father's  desk,  or  else  in  the  bath- 
room. The  Gillespie  home,  especially  in  holiday  time,  was 
a  gay,  riotous,  untidy  place.  No  one  knew  where  anything 
was;  and  the  whole  family  was  always  hunting  someone's 
hat  or  the  scissors  or  the  screw-driver  or  the  doctor's  gloves. 

Fred  shortly  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stair,  bawling 
that  the  paste  was  not  in  the  bath-room,  nor  on  his  father's 
desk;  and  Kitty  was  despatched  to  find  it;  while  Janet 
heard  Miss  Lena  say,  "Oh,  I  think  it  is  too  bad!"  Mrs. 
Gillespie  sat  and  stitched  away  happily,  unheeding.  She  was 
always  like  a  placid  and  sun-bathed  rock  in  the  maelstrom 
of  her  family's  comings  and  goings. 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       161 

She  became  interested  when  her  husband  came  bustling 
into  the  room.  Dr.  Gillespie  was  a  big,  stout,  blustering 
man.  He  was  a  kind,  indulgent  father ;  but  he  was  subject 
to  bursts  of  temper  when  he  was  worried  over  a  patient, 
or  in  a  hurry,  or  very  busy,  or  tired,  or  hungry,  or  too  cold, 
or  too  hot.  He  came  tramping  into  the  living-room,  bring- 
ing with  him  something  of  the  bluster  of  the  winter  storm. 

"Now,  Mother!"  he  shouted,  as  though  Mrs.  Gillespie 
were  away  at  the  other  end  of  the  village,  instead  of  right 
in  front  of  him,  "I'll  be  gone  an  hour ;  and  if  Kit  and  Bell 
want  to  come  with  me  when  I  get  back,  mind  you,  they've 
got  to  be  ready !  I  won't  sit  in  the  cold  waiting,  while  they 
frill  and  fluff  themselves.  It's  go  when  I  go;  or  stay  at 
home  altogether." 

"We're  all  ready  now,"  cried  Isabel's  indignant  young 
voice  from  the  top  of  the  stairs.  "Kit  and  I've  been  waiting 
ever  since  dinner  for  you,  Daddy,  so  now !" 

"The  girls  will  be  ready  and  waiting  for  you,  dear,"  said 
his  wife.  "Sylvia  and  Lena  are  here,"  she  added. 

"Ready  and  waiting !"  he  repeated,  buttoning  up  his  coat 
hurriedly.  "I  think  I  see  them,  I  do!"  He  pulled  a  pair 
of  gloves  from  his  pocket  and  flung  them  on  the  floor. 

"Marjorie!  Where  are  my  old,  fur-lined  gloves?  Man 
alive !  It's  cold  enough  to  freeze  the  nether  regions  over ; 
and  here  I  am,  driving  all  over  the  country  with  a  pair  of 
gloves  that  wouldn't  keep  the  sun  warm  in  August.  And 
Fred  put  in  that  old  rug,  when  I  told  him  I  wanted  the  fur 
one.  Katherine !  Isabel !  Mother,  where  are  those  girls  ? 
One  of  you  get  that  old  fur  robe  out  of  the  attic;  and  be 
quick  about  it.  Do  you  hear?  Where's  Fred?  Confound 
it;  what's  the  use  of  a  pack  of  women  cluttering  up  the 
house,  if  a  man  can't  get  a  hand's  turn  done  for  him  ?  Mar- 
jorie!" He  was  tramping  about,  and  shouting  by  this 
time;  and  Mrs.  Gillespie  put  aside  her  sewing,  and  arose 
to  despatch  the  family  on  their  several  errands. 

"Sylvia  and  Lena  are  here,  John,"  she  warned  again. 
"They  are  out  in  the  dining-room." 

"Well,  let  them  stay  there,"  he  thundered.     "I  couldn't 


162  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

find  my  woollen  scarf  this  morning,  and  I  had  to  drive 
clear  to  Lake  Simcoe  without  it.  There  isn't  a  soul  in  this 
house  cares  a  hang  whether  I  die  of  pneumonia  or  not." 

He  stamped  away  into  his  office,  while  Isabel  darted  up- 
stairs to  the  attic,  followed  by  her  mother,  giving  out  in- 
structions as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  fur  robe.  Kitty  ran 
to  her  father's  room  to  rummage  for  the  gloves ;  and  Mar- 
jorie,  her  head  held  high,  walked  haughtily  to  the  hall 
closet,  and  returned,  holding  the  missing  scarf  at  arm's 
length,  and  declaring  that  she  had  threatened  to  leave  home 
before,  but  it  was  no  threat  this  time,  she  was  certainly 
going  next  week. 

The  visitors  effaced  themselves  in  the  dining-room,  with 
the  exception  of  Janet.  She  knew  Nellie's  father  very  well ; 
and  was  very  fond  of  him.  He  had  dwelt  among  the 
Stand  Bys  ever  since  he  was  so  good  and  kind  when  she 
had  the  scarlet  fever.  She  rather  enjoyed  the  rush  and 
bustle,  too;  and  she  ran  up  to  the  attic  to  help  Isabel,  and 
down  again  to  assist  Kitty  and  Nellie  in  their  frantic  search 
for  the  missing  gloves. 

Everything  was  found  at  last;  and,  the  domestic  storm 
having  subsided,  the  Doctor  sailed  pleasantly  into  the  living- 
room  again,  pulling  on  his  warm  gloves. 

"Well,  Janet,"  he  cried,  seeing  the  little  girl  for  the  first 
time,  tfl  suppose  you  think  I'm  a  terrible,  old  ogre,  don't 
you?" 

"What's  an  ogre?"  asked  Janet,  pouncing  upon  the  new 
word. 

"An  ogre  is  a  big,  cross,  dreadful,  roaring  giant  with  a 
bad  temper,"  he  replied,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "Don't  you 
think  I'm  one  ?" 

Janet  considered  this.  "Well,  I  don't  know;  you're  not 
quite  as  big  as  a  giant,  are  you  ?"  she  said  at  last. 

That  was  evidently  the  only  difference  Janet  could  see; 
the  Doctor  laughed  aloud. 

"It's  very  refreshing  to  have  one  really  truthful  person 
in  the  neighbourhood,"  he  said,  for  he  had  been  the  victim 
of  Janet's  frankness  before. 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       163 

Janet  said  nothing  to  this;  she  was  wondering  if  it 
wouldn't  be  a  very  good  thing  for  the  doctor  if  he  sang 
inside  him. 

"I  guess  I'm  not  such  a  bad  old  fellow,  after  all,"  he 
said.  "My  bark  is  worse  than  my  bite,  isn't  it,  Janet?" 
He  gave  her  long  braid  a  playful  pull. 

Janet  looked  up  at  him  with  a  new  interest.  "Oh,  can 
you  bark,  too,  Doctor  Gillespie?"  she  asked  eagerly.  "I 
must  tell  young  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  'Cause  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  said  you  could  growl  better 
than  their  dog,  Towser ;  but  I  never  heard  you  bark.  How 
do  you  do  it?" 

The  Doctor  did  not  look  quite  so  happy ;  especially  as  he 
saw  his  wife's  portly  shoulders  beginning  to  shake. 

"The  Lord  Almighty  must  have  felt  like  quitting  when 
he  made  a  human  being  as  clever  as  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson, 
Jr.,"  he  declared,  as  he  tramped  out  of  the  room.  "Hi, 
girls,  got  that  rug  yet?"  And  he  went  out  into  the  storm, 
calling  back  that  if  the  girls  weren't  ready  and  waiting  for 
him  the  minute  he  drove  up,  he  would  leave  them ;  and  this 
was  his  last  warning. 

The  house  settled  to  its  usual  pleasant  level,  after  this 
upheaval;  the  family  being  too  accustomed  to  such  erup- 
tions to  make  any  comment.  Nellie  came  running  down- 
stairs pulling  on  her  coat,  and  calling  to  Fred  to  give  her 
the  newspaper ;  for  she  and  Janet  must  be  going. 

"Fred's  using  the  'Globe'  for  a  few  minutes,  Nell,"  said 
Isabel,  poking  her  head  in  mysteriously  from  the  dining- 
room.  "You  and  Janet  go  upstairs  and  play  for  a  little 
while." 

Nellie  was  indignant  at  the  suggestion. 

"There  now!  They've  got  a  joke  they  won't  tell  us, 
Janet,"  she  complained.  "Mother,  what  are  they  doing? 
Where's  Marjorie?  Marjorie,  I  want  in!" 

She  darted  to  the  dining-room  door.  "Keep  those  kids 
out,"  came  in  Fred's  voice  from  within,  "or  everything'll 
be  spoiled."  And  the  door  was  slammed  in  Nellie's  face. 


164  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Mother,"  cried  Nellie.  "What  are  they  all  doing  in 
there?  They're  always  having  some  fun  they  won't  tell 
me;  and  I  think  they're  mean.  Mother,  aw,  tell  me!" 

Suddenly  the  joke  appeared  to  melt  away.  Marjorie  and 
Sylvia  Ward  came  strolling  in,  and  sat  down  before  the 
fire  again.  Fred  went  quietly  upstairs;  and  Lena  Sinclair 
and  Isabel  were  discovered  talking  out  in  the  hall. 

Nellie  flew  from  one  to  the  other,  imploring  them  to 
tell  her  what  the  fun  was  about;  but  nobody  seemed  to 
know.  Even  Kitty  appeared  to  have  no  knowledge  that 
anything  had  happened.  Presently  Fred  came  strolling 
downstairs  again  and  into  the  living-room. 

"Well,  Kiddies,"  he  cried,  "are  you  going  with  Old 
Watty's  paper  now?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Janet  jumping  up.     "I  'most  forgot." 

"The  paper's  out  there  in  the  hall,  Nell,"  he  added,  "and 
here's  a  dime  for  each  of  you.  Get  yourselves  some  candy 
at  the  store." 

"And  come  right  back  as  soon  as  you  are  through  with 
your  errand,  Miss  Nell,"  warned  big  sister  Marjorie. 

The  charm  of  the  ten  cents  drove  away  Nellie's  dis- 
pleasure. They  found  the  paper,  very  neatly  folded,  con- 
trary to  custom ;  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  she  and  Janet  were 
out  of  the  house  and  hurrying  down  the  snowy  walk. 

They  were  just  a  little  chagrined  to  hear  renewed  peals 
of  laughter  as  they  closed  the  door. 

"There  they  go  again!"  gasped  Nellie,  as  they  battled 
with  the  wind.  "They  are  always  whispering  and  having 
jokes  and  secrets  that  I  don't  know.  I  listened  one  night 
and,  mind  you,  Janet,  I  heard  Marjorie  tell  Bell  that  she 
thought  she'd  marry  that  Nelson  fellow  that  comes  here. 
Mind  you,  they  don't  know  that  I  know.  But  if  they're 
too  mean  to  me,  I'll  tell  Marj's  other  fellow.  He's  Tom 
Gibson,  and  I  know  she  wouldn't  want  him  to  know." 

Janet  was  always  in  sympathy  with  Nellie;  but  she  had 
no  knowledge  as  to  how  big  sisters  and  brothers  were 
to  be  disciplined.  She  wondered  if  Mr.  Balfour  hud  any 
secrets  from  her. 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       165 

"Mr.  Balfour's  coming  to  our  house  to  tea  to-night," 
went  on  Nellie,  as  though  she  had  heard  what  Janet  was 
thinking.  "Did  you  know  that?" 

No,  Janet  did  not  know  that;  so  evidently  he  did  have 
secrets. 

"They  never  told  me  that,  either,"  went  on  NelHe  in- 
dignantly. "Only  I  heard  Marj  ask  him.  She  called  him 
on  the  'phone  and  asked  him.  She  said  she'd  have  him, 
'cause  Lena  Sinclair  was  coming.  She  says  Lena  won't  go 
anywhere  unless  she's  sure  Mr.  Balfour's  going  to  be  there, 
too." 

Janet  felt  this  showed  Miss  Lena's  good  judgment.  She 
felt  just  like  that  herself.  But  they  were  at  the  store 
steps  now,  and  Nellie's  grievances  vanished  again  before 
the  sight  of  the  jars  of  pink  raspberry  drops  in  the  window. 
When  they  arrived  at  the  old  Bradley  House,  Old  Watty 
Sinclair  was  sitting  at  his  window  looking  out  eagerly  upon 
the  world  of  snow,  anxiously  awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  little 
couriers. 

"Come  away,  come  away!"  he  cried  joyfully,  as  they  came 
storming  up  on  the  shaky  old  veranda,  stamping  the  snow 
from  their  feet.  "Hey,  hey,  and  what  would  I  be  doing 
without  my  fine  mail  carriers,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

He  hobbled  about  them  joyfully,  sweeping  the  snow  from 
their  feet,  with  his  old  broom. 

"Sit  ye  down,  now;  sit  ye  down,  and  get  warmed,"  he 
cried,  pulling  up  two  old  boxes  in  front  of  the  stove.  He 
brought  out  his  unfailing  bag  of  peppermints;  and  Janet 
and  Nellie  seated  themselves  by  the  fire,  while  the  old  man 
limped  to  the  window  with  the  beloved  newspaper.  He 
fairly  smacked  his  lips  as  he  unfolded  the  pages  of  the 
oracle,  devoutly  hoping  that  there  would  be  a  fiery  de- 
nunciation of  the  rotten  and  immoral  Tory  government, 
which  was  at  that  present  evil  moment  debauching  his 
country. 

"Let's  eat  all  our  candies,"  suggested  Nellie.  "If  I  wait 
till  I  get  home  there's  so  many  to  pass  them  to  that  I  never 
get  any." 


166  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

She  dived  into  her  pocket  and  began  munching  happily ; 
but  Janet  spread  her  handkerchief  upon  her  lap  and  laid 
her  raspberry  drops  and  peppermints  upon  it.  Then  she 
counted  them  carefully,  dividing  them  into  four  equal  parts ; 
one  for  Kirsty,  one  for  Mr.  Balfour,  one  for  her  mother,  and 
one  for  herself.  The  three  parts  she  put  back  into  the 
little  paper  bag;  and,  before  tasting  her  own  share,  she 
crossed  the  room  and  handed  the  handkerchief  to  Old 
Mr.  Watty.  Nellie,  inspired  by  Janet's  generosity,  came 
forward  with  hers  also.  But  the  old  man,  while  thanking 
them  profusely,  refused.  He  never  ate  any  candy,  except 
peppermints,  and  he  had  all  he  could  eat.  And  then  he 
buried  himself  in  his  paper,  taking  no  more  notice  of  his 
guests.  He  ran  over  the  first  page,  as  was  his  habit,  and 
as  he  did  so,  his  face  fell.  As  he  read  on  he  uttered  an 
occasional  scoffing  remark,  or  a  grunt  of  disapproval.  He 
read  one  article  a  second  time,  looking  puzzled  and  very 
much  annoyed.  "Fools  of  reporters,"  he  muttered.  "Ought 
to  be  hung." 

He  turned  to  the  editorial  page ;  and  there  slowly  dawned 
over  his  face  a  great  amazement.  He  read  on,  and  fairly 
gasped  for  breath.  He  stopped,  and  looked  up  at  the 
top  of  the  page.  There  shone  the  magic  words  "The 
Globe,"  just  as  they  had  shone  upon  him  ever  since  he 
had  learned  to  read.  He  went  back  and  read  the  editorial 
again;  and  his  astonishment  grew. 

He  took  off  his  glasses ;  and  looked  around  him  to  steady 
himself,  gripping  the  arm  of  his  chair  that  the  feeling  of 
some  material  object  might  assure  him  that  he  was  really 
in  the  flesh,  and  not  in  some  future  Tory  inferno  where 
wrong  was  right. 

There  were  the  walls  of  his  little  room,  and  the  high 
stained  and  streaked  ceiling ;  there  was  his  stove  sending  out 
blasts  of  heat,  with  the  little  black  iron  kettle  steaming 
noisily  upon  it;  and  there  were  his  two  little  friends  sit- 
ting chatting  before  the  fire.  And  yet,  the  world  must 
have  turned  upside  down.  For  here,  on  the  faultless  page, 
whose  words  had  always  been  to  him  second  only  to  the 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       167 

Scriptures,  here,  printed  right  out  in  shameless  type,  was 
an  editorial,  stating  that  Canada's  one  and  only  statesman, 
the  leader  of  the  Liberal  party,  was  but  a  blind  leader  of 
the  blind. 

Old  Watty's  sight  was  failing;  and  he  had  a  faint  hope 
that  it  might  be  playing  him  a  queer  trick.  He  took  hold 
of  a  corner  of  the  old  red  handkerchief  which  he  wore 
tied  round  his  neck  and  polished  his  glasses,  fitting  them 
on  carefully  again.  But  no,  he  could  not  make  the  words 
any  less  shameful.  Everything  on  earth  had  proven  false. 
His  family  had  turned  against  him;  his  nephew,  who  had 
been  like  his  own  son,  had  betrayed  him;  and  now,  the 
one  newspaper  in  the  country  that  stood  for  truth,  and  that 
had  been  his  guide  and  mentor,  had  gone  over  to  the 
enemy.  The  cause  of  freedom  and  right  was  forever  lost ! 

Old  Watty  drew  back  his  fist  and  struck  the  perfidious 
sheet  a  smashing  blow,  tearing  it  across  the  face;  then, 
crushing  the  paper  into  a  ball,  he  flung  it  upon  the  floor 
and  getting  vigorously  to  his  feet,  without  the  aid  of  his 
stick,  he  trampled  upon  the  betrayer,  uttering  anathemas 
which,  fortunately  for  the  two  amazed  little  listeners,  were 
thundered  forth  in  Gaelic. 

Janet  and  Nellie  had  been  sitting  with  their  feet  com- 
fortably placed  upon  the  stove  damper,  planning  a  play- 
house on  a  tremendous  scale  in  the  old  Bradley  House,  and 
at  the  dreadful  outburst  they  jumped  up. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Watty?"  cried  Janet  in  alarm. 
"Was  there  bad  news  in  the  paper  ?" 

"Bad  news!"  the  old  man  glared  down  at  the  trampled 
traitor.  "Bad  news !"  he  shook  his  fist  at  it. 

"Take  it  away,"  he  cried  chokingly.  "Take  it  away !  And 
don't  bring  that  vile  snake's  skin  into  my  house  again ! 
Take  it  away!  All  o'  them!  All  o'  them!  Don't  leave 
one  to  pollute  the  place." 

Staggering  to  the  corner  where  lay  a  pile  of  papers, 
carefully  preserved,  he  swept  them  up  into  his  arms.  He 
made  a  stride  towards  the  stove;  but  seemed  to  realise, 
even  in  his  fury,  that  they  might  bring  the  old  Bradley 


168  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

House  about  his  head  in  flames.  He  turned  to  the  door 
instead,  jerked  it  open,  and  flung  the  newspapers  out  upon 
the  wild  December  wind.  Janet  and  Nellie  followed  them 
in  swift  dismay.  They  did  not  look  back  until  they  were 
away  up  the  street,  and  had  reached  the  safe  distance  of 
the  bridge. 

A  cloud  of  newspapers  was  whirling  up  the  street.  Some 
of  them  were  finding  refuge  in  old  Mrs.  Murphy's  veranda, 
as  though  they  knew  that  here  was  the  natural  resting 
place  for  all  discarded  rubbish.  As  the  little  girls  watched 
their  airy  progress  Mrs.  Murphy  came  out,  her  shawl  over 
her  head,  and  gratefully  gathered  them  in.  The  Murphys 
were  well-to-do;  but  it  never  occurred  to  them  to  take  a 
newspaper;  and  the  lady  of  the  red  brick  house  was  glad 
to  see  so  many  apparently  rained  down  from  heaven;  she 
needed  something  to  fill  up  a  new  hole  in  the  parlour 
window. 

All  the  young  people  of  the  Gillespie  household  were 
watching  at  the  front  window,  as  the  two  little  girls  came 
storming  up  the  steps. 

"Oh,  Freddy,  there  must  have  been  somethin'  awful 
in  the  paper,"  gasped  Nellie,  almost  before  they  got  in- 
doors. "Old  Watty  was  awful,  awful  mad;  and  he  said 
an  awful  bad  word!" 

"And  he  scrunched  a  hole  in  the  paper  with  his  fist!" 
exclaimed  Janet  aghast. 

"And  he  threw  it  on  the  floor!"  reiterated  Nellie  shrilly. 

"And  he  stamped  on  it!"  Janet  came  in  promptly  with 
her  part  of  the  grievous  responses. 

"And  he  threw  them  all  outdoors !"  from  Nellie,  in  a  ris- 
ing crescendo. 

"And  he  said  we  were  never,  never  to  bring  him  a 
'Globe'  again!"  they  chanted  in  a  dismal  duet. 

The  little  girls  were  amazed  to  find  that,  instead  of 
bringing  consternation,  the  report  produced  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter. Fred  fell  back  on  the  sofa  and  roared;  Marjorie  and 
Isabel  screamed ;  and  as  for  Sylvia  Ward,  she  danced  about 
and  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Only 


OLD  WATTY  MAKES  A  DISCORD       169 

Miss  Lena  did  not  seem  to  see  the  joke;  she  laughed  a 
little,  but  in  a  protesting  fashion;  and  kept  saying  it  was 
really  a  shame. 

Janet  was  puzzled,  and  Nellie  was  indignant.  They  had 
just  been  through  a  very  dreadful  experience;  and  she 
felt  they  should  be  treated  with  some  consideration,  not 
laughed  at. 

Fred  made  them  repeat  exactly  what  had  happened,  and 
laughed  harder  the  second  time.  And  at  last  Lena  Sinclair 
said  with  some  spirit:  "It  wasn't  kind,  Sylvie,  and  you'll 
be  sorry  some  day." 

Sylvia  wiped  her  dancing  eyes.  "Why,  I'm  the  bene- 
factress of  the  whole  Sinclair  family.  It'll  do  him  good; 
you'll  see." 

"What  if  he  ever  finds  out?" 

"He  won't;  unless  you  tell  him." 

"There's  to  be  no  tattling,  remember,"  declared  Marjorie. 

"And  no  tattling  to-night  at  the  supper  table,"  warned 
Sylvia,  her  finger  raised. 

"Oh,  ho !"  cried  Fred.  "That's  the  way  the  wind  blows ! 
Don't  want  to  offend  the  cloth,  eh,  Sylvia  ?" 

Sylvia  Ward's  cheeks  took  on  a  richer  rose  color. 

"There'll  be  no  need  of  anyone  telling  if  you're  not  care- 
ful," she  said.  "Little  pitchers  have  long  tongues." 

When  Janet  returned  home  she  found  Mr.  Balfour  in 
the  study,  the  flag  on  the  door.  He  was  dressed  to  go  out 
to  supper;  and  was  whistling  happily,  as  he  looked  over  a 
shelf  of  books. 

She  regarded  him  admiringly,  as  she  spread  out  his 
share  of  the  candy  upon  the  desk. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  you  do  look  so  lovely  in  that  black 
coat,"  she  burst  out.  "You're  singing  in  your  heart,  too, 
aren't  you?" 

"Why?"  he  asked,  laughingly. 

"Oh,  because  your  eyes  shine  so;  and  you've  been  so 
happy  all  day  about  something,  haven't  you?" 

"How  is  Mr.  Watty  to-day,"  he  asked  hurrying  to  cover, 


170  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  reflecting  that  there  was  surely  something  uncanny 
about  her. 

This  reminded  Janet  of  the  day's  disastrous  happening; 
and  she  related,  at  length,  the  adventure  at  the  Bradley 
House. 

Mr.  Balfour  did  not  understand  it.  He  found  Saturday's 
paper,  and  ran  his  eyes  over  each  page,  in  a  vain  search 
for  the  paragraph  that  had  set  the  old  man  aflame. 

"He  said  we  weren't  never,  never  to  take  him  the  paper 
again!"  mourned  Janet,  "and  he  was  so  good  to  me  when 
he  brought  Blackie  back.  They  all  laughed  at  Nellie's  when 
we  went  back  and  told  them;  all  but  Miss  Lena.  She  said 
it  was  too  bad." 

But  Mr.  Balfour  seemed  to  be  too  happy  to  be  dis- 
turbed over  the  affair;  and  he  went  away  to  Nellie's  for 
supper,  whistling  louder  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
JANET  SOLVES  A  RIDDLE 

SINCE  Leola's  radiance  had  begun  to  fade,  Janet  had  been 
replacing  her  with  intellectual  problems  in  the  shape 
of  riddles.  The  love  of  these  mental  gymnastics  took 
hold  upon  her  like  a  disease.  Every  day  she  confronted  Mr. 
Balfour  and  her  mother  with,  "Why  is  such  and  such  like 
something  or  other?"  until  he  declared  he  was  in  danger 
of  a  nervous  breakdown  from  excessive  brain  exercise. 

But  all  Janet's  riddles  were  not  for  mere  recreation; 
and  one  of  her  hardest  in  the  early  winter  days  was  how 
to  make  a  new  coat  for  Molly  out  of  nothing  at  all.  For 
Molly  was  wearing  her  mother's  old  long  coat  whenever 
she  went  out,  and  though  Janet  thought  it  looked  very 
nice  indeed,  others  were  of  a  less  charitable  opinion.  Aggie 
Wright  buried  her  face  in  her  perfumed  handkerchief  to 
stifle  her  laughter  the  moment  she  set  her  supercilious  eyes 
upon  it;  and  Molly  suffered  much  anguish  from  her  whis- 
pered criticisms. 

"Nellie's  mother  says  she'd  give  Molly  that  old  one  of 
Kitty's,"  Janet  said,  discussing  the  affair  with  her  mother, 
"but  Kitty  says  she  doesn't  want  poor  Molly  to  be  wearing 
her  old  coat  to  school;  and  she  says  she'd  rather  give  her 
her  new  one;  only  Marjorie  says  she's  crazy." 

"ft  would  be  rather  hard  for  Molly,"  her  mother  said. 
"Some  of  the  girls  might  be  unkind  enough  to  notice ;  and, 
besides,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  good  for  Molly's  father 
to  know  that  the  neighbours  were  dressing  his  children." 

"Why  wouldn't  it,  Mother?"  queried  Janet.  "Isn't  it 
good  for  Daddy  when  Aunt  Flora  gives  me  things  to  wear  ?" 

171 


172  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

But  her  mother  was  busy  writing  at  her  desk,  and  Janet  got 
no  answer. 

"I  do  wish  Molly  had  a  coat,"  Janet  went  on,  talking 
aloud  to  herself.  "And  I  do  wish  she  had  a  new  dress; 
and  Rosie,  too.  Mother,  does  a  new  dress  cost  very  much  ? 
I  wish  Molly  had  a  pink  silk  dress  trimmed  with  lace, 
like  the  one  Aggie  Wright  has.  Nellie  says  that  Aggie's 
mother  won't  let  her  wear  that  dress  any  more;  'cause  she 
wore  it  to  school  without  asking.  She  might  as  well  give 
it  to  Molly,  then.  She's  thin,  and  the  buttons  wouldn't 
fly  off  every  time  she  sneezed.  Don't  you  think  so,  mother?" 

"Y-e-s,  dear,"  said  her  mother  absently,  her  eyes  fol- 
lowing her  pen.  "Run  and  wash  your  hands  and  face 
before  tea,  now  dear;  and  then  you  must  practise  your 
scales;  you  only  gave  them  a  few  minutes  this  morning." 

Janet  went  off  with  one  of  her  loud  sighs  that  was 
almost  a  groan.  Early  in  the  winter  she  had  started  tak- 
ing music  lessons  from  Martha  Beckett;  and  though  it 
was  holidays  her  mother  insisted  upon  an  hour's  prac- 
tise every  day.  Janet  found  practising  scales  almost  as 
toilsome  as  hemming  a  towel. 

"It  seems  such  a  pity,"  she  explained  to  Mr.  Balfour, 
"that  Mother  will  let  me  play,  but  she  won't  let  me  sing. 
Because  I  can  sing  without  any  lessons;  I  can  sing  with- 
out even  trying;  but  I'm  having  an  awful  time  learning  to 
play." 

But  the  music  lessons  helped  to  tide  her  over  the  danger- 
ous time  of  holidays;  and  when  she  grew  too  insistent  as 
to  plans  for  getting  a  school  coat  for  Molly  Kelly,  her 
mother  found  the  piano  very  convenient  as  a  relief. 

But  when  Janet  set  her  mind  to  solve  a  riddle  she  gen- 
erally succeeded;  and  she  managed  to  find  a  coat  for 
Molly. 

The  most  joyous  sport  of  winter,  and  the  one  that  ap- 
pealed most  "to  Janet,  was  hanging  on  to  tKe  big  sleighs 
that  came  jingling  through  the  village  on  their  way  to  and 
from  town.  Mrs.  Meldrum  did  not  quite  approve  of  this 
method  of  travel;  and  when  she  was  at  home  she  gen- 


JANET  SOLVES  A  RIDDLE  173 

erally  put  her  ban  upon  it.  But  one  day  when  she  was 
away  at  a  convention  in  Algonquin,  Janet  and  Bud  went 
out  for  a  whole  riotous  afternoon's  riding  up  and  down 
the  public  highway.  It  was  Bud's  first  day  out  after  his 
cold,  and  Janet  loaned  him  her  scarf  to  keep  the  snow  from 
going  down  his  thin  little  neck.  They  were  not  alone  very 
long.  Like  the  snowman  they  had  made  in  the  morning, 
by  rolling  a  ball  across  the  field,  they  gathered  to  them- 
selves everything  they  touched;  till  finally  Lennie,  Nellie, 
Susie  Beckett,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Kellys  had  joined 
them. 

They  had  gone  far  out  into  the  country  on  a  slow-moving 
wood  sleigh,  and  were  coming  sweeping  back  to  the  vil- 
lage on  Young  Gibbie  Gibson's  empty  "Bobs,"  when  a 
smart  cutter  drove  up  behind  the  yelling,  singing  little  crowd. 
It  was  driven  by  young  Sam  Sinclair,  and  when  Janet  saw 
Miss  Lena's  brother,  she  waved  her  red  mitten  at  him  joy- 
ously. 

"Hurrah  back  here,  and  ride  with  me,  Janet!"  he 
shouted;  and  with  a  scream  of  joy,  Janet  fairly  tumbled 
off  her  perch  and  into  the  deep  snow  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  Molly  gave  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  jumped  after  her; 
and  the  young  man  stopped  and  bundled  them  both  under 
his  warm  fur  robes. 

The  sleigh  and  the  cutter  ran  a  mad  race  down  the  road, 
the  occupants  of  each  yelling  defiance  at  the  other.  When 
they  came  to  the  Sinclair  gate,  instead  of  transferring  his 
passengers  to  the  sleigh,  Sam  whirled  into  the  lane  and 
up  toward  the  house,  followed  by  the  envious  shrieks  of  the 
crowd,  that  were  being  dragged  back  to  the  village. 

Molly  was  half-pleased,  half-afraid;  but  Janet  was  filled 
with  delight,  when  Sam  swung  them  out  of  the  cutter  onto 
the  side  veranda. 

"Hi,  Lena!"  he  shoutefl.  "Here's  two  hired  girls  I 
brought  you  from  town.  They'll  do  the  washin'  and  milkin' 
for  you !" 

Miss  Lena  came  running  out  in  delighted  surprise;  and 
the  two  little  visitors  were  brought  into  the  big  warm  par- 


174  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

lour.  Mrs.  Sinclair,  stout  and  motherly,  sat  on  one  side 
of  the  roaring  stove,  knitting;  and  on  the  other  side,  deep 
in  an  easy  chair,  sat  Sylvia  Ward  reading  a  book.  She 
wore  a  soft  blue  dress,  and  looked  prettier  than  ever. 

"Come  away,  children!"  cried  Mrs.  Sinclair  heartily. 
"Eh,  eh,  and  it's  little  Janet ;  and  Tom  Kelly's  girl !" 

Molly  was  shivering;  and  as  Mrs.  Sinclair  drew  off  the 
little  girl's  thin  coat  her  kind  eyes  were  full  of  pity. 

"Dearie  me,  ye're  cold,  lassie !"  she  cried,  rubbing  Molly's 
blue  hands.  "Get  them  a  drink  o'  hot  peppermint,  Lena." 
And  then  Miss  Lena  made  a  lovely  suggestion. 

"I  wonder  if  you  two  girlies  couldn't  stay  and  have  sup- 
per with  us,  Janet?  I've  half  a  mind  to  telephone  down 
and  ask  Kirsty." 

"I'll  telephone  right  now,"  interrupted  Miss  Sylvia, 
kindly.  She  jumped  up  and  danced  away  out  into  the  hall 
where  the  telephone  hung,  and  closed  the  door  carefully 
behind  her. 

She  was  gone  a  long  time;  and  they  could  hear  the 
musical  sound  of  her  laughing  voice  through  the  door. 
When  she  came  back  her  cheeks  were  very  pink,  and  her 
eyes  very  bright.  Janet  stared  at  her  in  frank  admiration. 

"Mr.  Balfour  came  to  the  'phone;  and  he  says  you  may 
stay,  Janet,"  she  said,  "and  we're  to  take  you  home  when 
we  go  down  to  the  meeting." 

"Did  he  say  he'd  send  word  to  Molly's  mother?"  asked 
Miss  Lena. 

"Molly?  Oh,  I  forgot!"  Miss  Sylvia  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, "and  Mr.  Balfour  was  just  going  out,  too.  Lena,  you 
go  and  call  up  Marjorie.  She'll  send  word  over." 

Miss  Lena  went  slowly  out  to  the  telephone;  and  the 
two  little  girls  were  established  as  guests  for  the  evening. 
To  Janet  a  visit  to  Miss  Lena's  was  always  a  delight; 
and  to  poor  Molly  the  big  well-furnished  farm  house  was 
like  a  palace,  and  Sylvia  Ward  its  fairy  princess. 

Miss  Lena  let  them  come  out  to  the  kitchen  with  her 
when  she  went  to  get  the  supper  ready.  They  were  run- 
ning to  and  fro,  helping  to  set  the  table,  when  Sam  came 


JANET  SOLVES  A  RIDDLE  175 

in.  "Hey,  there!  Ain't  my  two  hired  girls  a  fine  team?" 
he  cried,  tumbling  an  armful  of  wood  into  the  big  wood- 
box  behind  the  stove.  "What  d'ye  think  we  ought  to  pay 
'em,  Dad?" 

Mr.  Sinclair,  who  was  sitting  smoking  and  reading,  with 
his  stockinged  feet  on  the  damper  of  the  stove,  said,  with- 
out looking  up  from  his  newspaper,  that  he'd  pay  them  any- 
thing they  asked  if  they'd  just  keep  his  pipe  filled,  and  a 
good  warm  fire  in  the  kitchen. 

Molly  grew  radiant  over  all  this  flattery;  and  Janet's 
spirits  became  riotous.  They  ran  down  to  the  big  cellar, 
and  into  the  pantry  and  cupboard,  bringing  out  all  sorts 
of  delightful  pies  and  cakes  and  jams.  Then  Sylvia  came 
out  from  the  parlour;  and  immediately  the  noise  and  fun 
were  redoubled.  Sam  joined  in  the  fun;  and  they  all 
chased  each  other  around  the  stove  and  the  table,  and  had 
such  a  good  time  that  Molly  forgot  to  be  shy  and  laughed 
as  loud  as  anybody. 

Janet  had  always  admired  Miss  Lena's  beautiful  cousin; 
but  only  from  a  distance.  Now  she  was  quite  ready  to 
put  her  next  to  Miss  Lena  in  her  cupboard  of  affection. 
She  sat  between  Janet  and  Molly  at  the  table,  and  made 
everybody  laugh  so  hard,  imitating  the  old  professor  who 
gave  her  music  lessons,  that  Miss  Lena's  father  ex- 
claimed : — 

"Eh,  Sylvie,  Sylvie!  You're  just  such  another  scalawag 
as  your  mother  was  before  you!  How  do  we  get  along 
without  you?" 

There  was  a  young  people's  meeting  in  the  church  that 
evening;  and,  all  too  soon,  Sam  brought  the  cutter  round 
to  take  them  to  the  village.  As  they  went  upstairs  to  pre- 
pare for  the  drive,  Sylvia  Ward  put  her  arm  around  Janet ; 
and  Janet  put  her  arm  around  Sylvia,  as  if  they  had  both 
just  turned  eleven.  Molly's  coat  was  hanging  by  the 
stove  in  the  hall;  and  by  the  time  they  reached  Sylvia's 
bedroom,  Janet  had  confided  to  her  all  her  worries  over 
that  coat. 


176  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"The  girls  are  sure  to  laugh  at  it  when  she  starts  to 
school,"  mourned  Janet.  "Oh,  Miss  Sylvia,  don't  you 
think  clothes  are  a  dreadful  bother?" 

"Well,  they  are;  and  yet  they're  a  great  comfort,  too, 
little  Janet,"  laughed  Miss  Sylvia.  "Poor  Molly!  I  won- 
der,— Do  you  know,  Janet,  I  believe  I've  got  a  coat.  Come 
here  and  see  if  this  would  do!" 

She  dived  into  the  closet  which  was  fairly  crammed  with 
dresses.  Janet  stood  and  looked  in  amazement,  while  the 
young  lady  flung  one  pretty  gown  after  another  upon  the 
bed. 

"Oh,  it  must  be  dreadful  to  have  so  many  dresses  to 
take  care  of,"  she  cried  sympathetically. 

Miss  Sylvia  came  out  of  the  deluge  of  dresses  holding 
up  a  beautiful,  long  soft  coat  of  navy-blue  cloth,  with  a 
pretty  collar  of  brown  fur. 

"Bless  your  queer  little  heart!"  she  cried.  "I  never  had 
half  enough  dresses  in  my  life.  Look,  Janet,  I  wonder 
if  this  coat  were  shortened  would  it  fit  Molly?  It's  too 
small  for  me,  and  I'm  dying  to  be  rid  of  it  anyway." 

Janet  was  speechless.  She  could  only  hop  up  and  down 
on  one  foot  and  gasp;  and  Sylvia  laughed  at  her  till  she 
had  to  sit  down  on  the  bed;  and  Molly  and  Miss  Lena 
came  running  down  the  hall  to  see  what  all  the  fun  was 
about. 

And  then  it  was  Molly's  turn  to  be  dumb  with  joy. 
When  the  coat  was  slipped  over  her  thin  little  shoulders, 
and  the  fur  collar  buttoned  snugly  around  her  throat;  and 
when  Miss  Lena  had  explained  how  she  would  take  it  in 
here,  and  shorten  the  sleeves  there,  Molly  could  only  stand 
and  stare,  her  big  eyes  growing  bigger  and  brighter ;  while 
Janet,  who  had  quite  recovered  her  voice,  capered  about 
her  fairly  shouting. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  new  days  for  Molly.  Miss 
Lena  had  noticed  with  surprise  how  deftly  the  little  Kelly 
girl  had  handled  everything  in  the  kitchen ;  and  how  neatly 
she  had  done  her  work.  And  the  next  day  she  went  to 


JANET  SOLVES  A  RIDDLE  177 

Mrs.  Kelly  and  asked  that  Molly  might  come  out  to  the 
farm  and  help  her  every  Saturday,  and  on  holidays,  and  she 
would  pay  her  enough  in  advance  to  buy  new  school  dresses 
for  both  her  and  Rosie. 

With  Molly's  coat  off  her  mind  Janet  was  immediately 
on  the  lookout  for  someone  else  who  needed  more  music 
in  life.  She  sometimes  wondered  if  Mr.  Balfour  was  al- 
ways able  to  sing  and  make  melody  in  his  heart;  for  after 
the  Christmas  holidays  were  over,  he  did  not  run  upstairs 
two  steps  at  a  time,  nor  whistle  so  much.  To  be  sure 
he  was  home  a  great  deal  more  than  he  had  been,  much 
to  Janet's  satisfaction ;  and  they  had  some  merry  evenings 
propounding  riddles  by  the  study  fire.  He  was  such  a 
wonderful  guesser  that  Janet  was  lost  in  admiration  of  his 
mental  agility. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  you're  so  clever,"  she  declared.  "I 
don't  believe  there's  a  riddle  living  that  you  can't  guess." 

To  her  surprise  he  heaved  a  sigh.  "Ah,  there's  a  very 
big  one  that's  bothering  me  just  now,  little  Janet,"  he 
said,  gazing  into  the  fire,  "and  I'm  afraid  I  won't  be 
clever  enough  to  find  the  answer." 

"Oh,  tell  me.  Perhaps  I  could  help  you  guess  it,"  she 
cried. 

He  smiled;  but  it  was  a  rather  sad  sort  of  smile,  Janet 
thought.  "You  do  help  me,  every  day,  dear,"  he  said.  "But 
this  is  a  riddle  that's  too  big  for  your  little  head.  .By  the 
way,  Blackie's  been  behaving  quite  respectably  lately,  hasn't 
he?"  He  was  successful  in  diverting  her  attention.  Janet 
forgot  about  the  Big  Riddle  in  her  eagerness  to  report 
Blackie's  steadily  improved  conduct. 

But  though  Blackie  was  quite  respectable  now,  and  Molly 
and  Rosie  were  as  nicely  dressed  at  school  as  anyone  could 
wish ;  Janet's  third  big  Riddle,  Mr.  Watty,  remained  stub- 
born and  unsolvable. 

All  through  the  long  winter,  she  tried  to  bring  him  to 
a  state  of  mind  that  would  make  singing  again  possible. 
She  always  waved  her  hand  at  him  as  she  passed  the  old 


178  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Bradley  House  on  her  way  to  and  from  school.  She  even 
ran  in  occasionally  to  ask  how  he  was,  and  to  enquire 
if  the  ban  had  not  yet  been  taken  off  the  newspaper.  But 
though  he  seemed  very  glad  to  see  her,  and  always  en- 
quired for  Blackie,  and  never  failed  to  produce  the  pepper- 
mint bag,  he  still  refused  to  accept  the  offer  of  the  treacher- 
ous paper  that  had  ended  all  his  hopes  for  his  country. 
His  own  familiar  friend  had  turned  against  him.  Canada's 
last  prop  had  given  way.  And  Old  Watty  was  sitting  un- 
der his  juniper  tree  declaring  that  everyone  had  bowed  the 
knee  to  the  Tories  and  he  alone  remained. 

"I  guess  he  can't  sing  in  his  heart  any  more,"  remarked 
Janet  one  Saturday,  returning  from  a  visit  to  the  juniper 
tree.  It  was  a  bitter  February  day  and  she  had  found  him 
trying  to  fry  some  pork  for  his  dinner,  over  a  stove  that 
smoked,  and  green  wood  that  refused  to  burn. 

"I  don't  think  his  dinner  was  very  nice,"  she  added  pen- 
sively, looking  at  the  delicious  meat  pie  Kirsty  had  con- 
cocted. "I  guess  it's  hard  to  sing  away  down  in  your  stom- 
ach when  there's  nothing  there  but  emptiness." 

"Janet,  child!"  exclaimed  her  mother,  "what  very  strange 
expressions  you  make  use  of.  It  seems  very  peculiar," 
she  added  turning  to  Mr.  Balfour,  "that  Mrs.  Tom  Sin- 
clair can't  do  something  about  it."  In  her  practical  effi- 
cient way,  Mrs.  Meldrum  would  have  taken  Old  Watty  and 
put  him  into  his  proper  place ;  just  as  she  would  tidy  up  a 
room. 

"He  doesn't  like  the  things  Tom's  Woman  gives  him 
to  eat,"  said  Janet,  "so  I  guess  he'd  rather  do  his  own 
cooking."  She  attacked  her  own  dinner  with  much  zest. 

"Janet,  you  mustn't  speak  of  Mrs.  Thomas  Sinclair  in 
that  fashion.  It's  not  polite.  Sit  up  straight  at  the  table, 
dear." 

"But  Mr.  Watty  always  calls  her  'Tom's  Woman,'  Mother, 
and  he's  always  polite.  He  says  she's  a  smart  buddy,  espe- 
cially with  her  tongue;  but  he'll  have  to  eat  something  he 
doesn't  like  if  he  goes  to  live  with  her." 


JANET  SOLVES  A  RIDDLE  179 

"It's  that  potato  salad,"  explained  Mrs.  Meldrum  to  the 
amused  young  man.  "How  unreasonable  of  the  poor  old 
fellow." 

"No,  it  isn't  the  salad,  Mother,"  said  Janet,  suspending 
operations  with  her  fork.  "He  told  me  the  other  day. 
It's  something  else  that  Tom's  Worn — I  mean  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair makes  him  eat ;  some  kind  of  pie  he  said  he'd  have 
to  eat  every  day  if  he  went  home." 

"Some  kind  of  pie?"  asked  her  mother.  "Don't  eat  so 
fast,  Janet." 

"Was  it  humble  pie?"  asked  Mr.  Balfour,  who,  under 
his  daily  training  in  riddles,  was  becoming  a  wonder  at 
guessing. 

Janet  cast  him  one  of  her  appreciative  glances  that  said 
plainly  what  a  perfect  success  she  considered  him.  "Yes, 
that's  what  it  was ;  Humble  pie.  What's  Humble  Pie,  Mr. 
Balfour?  Kirsty  doesn't  ever  make  it  for  us,  does  she?" 

Here  her  mother  laughed  and  said  that  little  girls  must 
not  talk  so  much  at  the  table.  She  must  eat  her  dinner 
for  it  would  soon  be  time  she  was  getting  at  her  practice. 
Janet's  tongue  being  stopped,  her  brain  went  all  the  harder  ; 
and  impressed  the  mystery  of  Humble  Pie  more  surely 
upon  her  memory.  She  resolved  that  she  would  find  out 
that  very  day  what  it  was ;  and  when  she  met  Tom's  Woman 
she  would  ask  her  to  please  stop  baking  it,  so  that  Mr. 
Watty  could  come  home  and  live  in  peace.  Kirsty,  she 
knew,  would  be  able  to  tell  her  all  about  any  kind  of  pie 
that  was  ever  made.  But  though  she  was  successful  later 
in  learning  the  unpleasant  ingredients  that  went  into  the 
making  of  Humble  Pie,  she  changed  her  mind  about 
speaking  to  Tom's  Woman  about  it;  and  poor  Old  Watty 
was  still  left  to  cook  his  meals  alone. 

Mr.  Balfour  called  on  him  many  times.  He  respected 
the  old  man's  pride  and  dared  not  offer  any  material  help. 
But  he  split  the  kindling  wood  for  him;  and  piled  his 
wood-box  full ;  and  did  many  another  kind  act  to  make  the 
exile  comfortable.  He  even  dared  to  suggest  that  the 


180  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Globe"  had  evidently  departed  from  its  evil  ways  and 
might  now  be  read  with  impunity;  but  was  met  with  such 
a  storm  of  invective  against  it  that  he  desisted;  and  the 
old  man  was  left  without  reading  matter  through  the  long 
cold  winter. 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED 

THE  long  winter  came  to  an  end  at  last.  It  was  a  longer 
winter  to  Hugh  Balfour  than  anyone  guessed;  for 
all  through  it,  he  had  been  counting  the  days  until  Easter ; 
the  nearest  time  when  people  could  come  back  holidaying 
to  Cherry  Hill. 

There  had  been  so  much  snow  that  everyone  said  there 
would  certainly  be  floods  when  it  began  to  melt  in  the 
spring.  But  Mother  Nature  had  her  own  efficient  way 
of  doing  things;  and,  when  people  were  prophesying  ill, 
suddenly,  the  snow  was  gone.  A  few  days  of  blazing  sun, 
a  night  of  steady  warm  rain,  and  the  snowdrifts  were 
racing  away  down  the  valley  in  a  thousand  sparkling  cas- 
cades. On  the  first  Saturday  morning  of  real  spring, 
when  the  bare  ground  had  looked  up  from  under  its  win- 
ter covering,  Janet  came  dancing  out  of  the  house.  The 
recurrence  of  each  new  season  brought  her  a  sort  of  joy- 
ous shock.  The  first  snow,  the  first  peep  of  brown  earth, 
the  first  frost,  or  the  first  dandelion  in  Sinclair's  pasture 
b'ehind  the  house  were  all  occasions  worthy  of  wild  cele- 
bration. 

Spring  had  come  with  such  startling  suddenness  that  she 
was  more  than  usually  happy.  It  was  as  if  some  very  dear 
friend,  or  relative,  her  father  even,  had  come  home,  with- 
out writing  to  announce  himself.  The  unexpected  sight 
of  the  good  old  earth  set  her  running  down  the  garden, 
leaping  and  shouting  like  a  mad  little  girl. 

Kirsty  plunged  into  the  housecleaning  with  a  tremendous 
energy,  having  been  taken  unaware  by  the  season.  Spring 
had  stolen  up  unheralded;  and  she  was  just  a  little  discon- 

181 


182  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

certed,  as  though  she  had  been  caught  napping  in  church 
and  missed  the  text.  So,  though  it  was  Saturday,  she 
tied  her  head  up  in  a  white  cloth  and  marched  forth  with 
pail  and  mop  and  turned  everything  upside  down  and  in- 
side out  and  scoured,  beat  and  polished. 

The  confusion  of  housecleaning  was  a  condition  entirely 
after  Janet's  heart ;  and  for  a  time  she  was  amazingly  busy, 
running  upstairs  and  downstairs  trying  her  best  to  help ; 
until  Kirsty  commanded  her  to  go  away  into  the  parlour 
and  practise  her  music,  or  sit  still  on  a  chair  like  a  wise 
child. 

Janet  took  herself  out  of  the  way;  but  to  sit  down  on 
this  wild  March  morning  of  sun  and  wind  would  have 
demanded  a  strait  jacket.  So  out  she  went  leaping  and 
capering  down  the  garden  walk,  until  Kirsty,  viewing  her 
tumultuous  progress  through  the  mist  of  soap  suds  with 
which  she  was  flooding  the  front  bedroom  window,  cried 
out  in  real  alarm: 

"Eh,  preserve  us!    Is  the  bairn  gone  clean  daft?" 

Hugh  Balfour  was  working  on  the  last  review  of  his 
Sunday  sermon.  He  heard  the  ejaculation,  and  looking 
through  his  window,  laughed  aloud.  He,  too,  felt  the  call 
of  the  spring  and  quite  understood  Janet's  madness.  She 
had  got  out  her  skipping  rope,  because  you  could  leap  so 
much  higher  if  you  had  something  to  leap  over;  and  Pep- 
per and  she  were  going  through  a  sort  of  mad  March  Hare 
dance. 

He  wanted  to  go  out  and  join  her;  and  he  threw  up 
his  window  to  catch  a  breath  of  the  spring  air.  Clouds  raced 
across  the  gleaming  blue  heavens.  From  far  overhead 
came  the  cry  of  wild  geese,  winging  their  strong  flight 
away  to  the  free  north.  Everywhere  rivulets  sang  and 
leaped  and  flashed  away,  down,  down  to  the  little  creek, 
now  a  river,  roaring  and  foaming  through  the  valley.  The 
woods  on  the  hill  behind  the  house,  and  on  all  the  many 
hills  visible  from  the  village,  swayed  and  sang  the  deep 
opening  notes  of  their  great  resurrection  hymn. 

Away  went  Janet  around  the  house,  Pepper  at  her  fly- 


A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED  183 

ing  heels.  When  she  disappeared,  the  watcher  closed  the 
window  and  went  back  to  his  work,  smiling;  and  Kirsty 
continued  her  scrubbing,  shaking  her  head  ominously,  and 
exclaiming  over  and  over,  "For  peety  sakes !" 

Janet  was  wondering,  as  she  ran  down  the  garden  to 
look  at  her  hens,  singing  happily  in  their  enclosure,  if 
there  would  be  any  possibility  of  Mr.  Balfour  being  in- 
duced to  come  out  for  a  game  of  ball,  when  the  best  thing 
in  the  world  happened.  A  red  head,  surmounted  by  the 
remains  of  a  very  ragged  cloth  cap  came  up  over  the  fence ; 
and  the  next  moment  Bud  was  perched  on  the  fence  top. 

Janet  screamed  with  joy,  "Oh !  Oh,  Bud !"  she  shouted. 
"Come  on  down !  Hurrah,  and  have  a  game  of  ball!" 

But  Bud  remained  where  he  was,  and  shook  his  head  so 
solemnly  that  Janet  ran  to  him. 

"Is  your  mother  washing?"  she  asked  anxiously.  It  was 
not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  but  it  was  bad  enough. 

"No,  but  I  gotta  go  down  to  old  Sarah  Kennedy's  with 
this  stuff  for  Molly's  new  dress."  He  held  up  a  large 
parcel  in  a  shame-faced  manner.  "Hurrah  over  and  go 
with  me,  will  you,  Jinny  ?" 

Janet  knew  all  about  this  wonderful  new  dress.  Since 
Molly  had  gone  to  work  for  Miss  Lena  on  Saturdays  and 
holidays,  she  had  earned  enough  to  buy  a  new  dress  for 
Rosie,  one  for  her  mother,  and  one  for  baby  Cornelius. 
And  now,  at  last,  she  had  bought  one  for  herself.  It  was 
a  beautiful  pink  muslin;  Miss  Lena  had  chosen  it  herself, 
in  Algonquin;  and  had  insisted  that  Molly  get  Sarah  Ken- 
nedy to  make  it.  The  Cherry  Hill  dressmaker  was  not  swift, 
and  Molly  must  have  her  new  dress  for  the  Sunday  School 
picnic  on  the  twenty- fourth  of  May;  and  here  it  was 
March ;  and  anyone,  who  knew  Sarah  Kennedy,  realised 
that  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 

To  take  the  beautiful  roll  of  pink  muslin  down  to  Miss 
Kennedy  at  the  other  end  of  the  village  seemed  to  Janet 
to  be  a  very  easy  and  delightful  errand ;  but  to  Bud  it  was 
a  dreadful  ordeal.  He  was  very  shy  and  very  much  afraid 
of  all  women;  and  the  idea  of  going  into  a  house  where 


184  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

two  strange  ones  lived  to  consult  them  regarding  the  mak- 
ing of  a  girl's  dress  overcame  him  with  shame.  It  was  no 
man's  work,  this  visiting  dressmakers.  But  as  Tim  had 
run  away  at  the  suggestion,  and  his  mother  had  driven  him 
forth  alone,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go.  So  he  had 
come  to  Janet  for  help.  Janet  would  know  exactly  what 
to  say. 

Janet  was  delighted.  She  had  many  a  memory  of  times 
when  Bud  had  guarded  her  past  dangers.  There  was  the 
Caldwell's  gobbler,  and  Aggie  Wright's  gander,  and  the 
dreadful  steer  that  lived  in  the  Gibson's  pasture  field  be- 
hind the  manse.  It  was  an  inexplicable  thing  that  this 
fearless  hero  should  be  afraid  of  an  old  woman ;  and  Janet 
was  humbly  proud  and  glad  to  help  him. 

She  threw  her  skipping  rope  into  an  apple  tree,  and 
dashed  up  the  steps  and  away  through  the  house  calling 
for  her  mother.  She  was  possessed  of  a  dreadful  fear  lest 
she  might  not  be  allowed  to  go.  If  it  were  Nellie  Gilles- 
pie  or  Lennie  Caldwell  who  had  called  for  her,  the  task 
might  be  very  easy,  but  to  get  away  on  an  expedition 
with  Bud  was  as  difficult  as  it  was  delightful. 

Mrs.  Meldrum  was  busy  looking  over  summer  clothes, 
and  was  in  her  room  surrounded  by  open  drawers  and 
boxes.  Janet  was  so  essentially  honest  that  she  was  in- 
capable of  making  anything  appear  better  than  it  was ; 
so  she  stated  the  case  frankly,  dreading  lest  she  be  refused, 
and  prepared  to  argue  the  case  to  the  last. 

What  was  her  glad  amazement,  then,  to  receive  per- 
mission at  once.  "Kirsty  has  been  wanting  some  of  the 
home-made  soap  Mrs.  Murphy  promised  her.  So  you  must 
take  a  basket  and  bring  a  few  bars;  and  Bud  will  help 
you  carry  it,"  her  mother  said.  "Here  is  the  money  to 
pay  for  it,  and  be  sure  not  to  lose  it.  And  be  a  good  little 
girl,  and  don't  tear  your  dress,  nor  run  on  the  street; 
but  hurry,  for  Rirsty  needs  the  soap  for  scrubbing." 

Long  before  she  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stair  Janet 
had  forgotten  all  these  admonitions  in  the  delirium  of  go- 
ing. Kirsty  produced  a  basket  and  a  long  admonition  not 


A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED  185 

to  be  stravogin'  here-away,  there-away,  but  to  walk  along 
quiet-like,  like  a  wise  bairn. 

Janet  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  and  through  the 
back  fence  almost  before  Bud  knew  she  was  gone. 

They  put  the  precious  dress  carefully  into  the  basket, 
and  set  off  in  high  spirits,  swinging  it  between  them.  They 
raced  with  the  wind  over  the  soft  yielding  pasture  field, 
dancing  along  over  the  patches  of  shadow  that  chased  the 
patches  of  sunlight  over  its  dun  surface;  while  Pepper 
ran  ahead,  and  doubled  back,  and  went  round  and  round 
them  quite  the  maddest  of  the  mad  little  trio.  There  was 
a  nice  dry  cement  walk  down  the  village  street;  but  the 
muddy  path  behind  the  village  over  the  field  was  much  su- 
perior. For  while  the  village  street  ran  as  straight  and 
uninteresting  as  the  ruler  on  one's  desk  at  school,  the  back 
path  went  meandering  here  and  there,  dipping  into  hollows, 
and  through  clumps  of  trees,  and  was  fully  twice  as  long 
as  the  street.  Far  away  over  the  bare  brown  fields  a  flock 
of  crows,  who  were  moving  out  of  their  winter  house  in 
the  swamp,  were  cawing  and  quarrelling  as  to  where  they 
should  settle  for  the  summer.  And  as  they  passed  the 
Beckett  orchard,  oh,  wonder  and  joy!  there  was  a  robin: 
the  advance  agent  of  the  great  spring  choir,  singing  the 
Glory  Song  in  the  swaying  top  of  a  bare  maple !  Bud  and 
Janet  stood  breathless  to  listen.  It  seemed  so  very  long 
since  they  had  heard  his  delightsome,  silvery,  "Cherrily, — 
chirrily." 

The  stream  that  crossed  the  village  street  roared  past; 
a  grey  river,  carrying  pieces  of  ice  on  its  foaming  billows. 
Bud  suggested  that  Janet  wait  till  he  ran  back  for  some 
boards  that  were  in  their  shed,  and  they  would  rig  up  a 
raft  in  no  time.  But  though  Janet  was  generally  ready  for 
any  venture,  this  time  she  showed  discretion.  They  must 
not  risk  a  voyage  with  Molly's  pink  muslin  dress  on  board. 
Bud  saw  the  wisdom  of  her  decision  and  they  climbed  the 
fence  and  walked  sedately  across  the  bridge. 

A  run  down  the  slope,  and  they  were  at  Sarah  Ken- 
nedy's little  gate.  As  they  came  opposite  the  Bradley 


186  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

House,  Janet  waved  her  hand  at  the  old  man  sitting  in  the 
sunny  window  mending  a  boot.  The  ragged  paper  window 
blind  was  rolled  up  crooked  as  usual,  and  the  sun  shone 
in  upon  his  grey  bent  head.  Janet  felt  a  pang  of  pity.  She 
was  very  much  annoyed  at  the  people  who  made  the 
"Globe,"  that  they  should  have  behaved  so  badly.  She 
and  Nellie  had  often  written  to  the  editor  of  their  Sunday 
school  paper;  she  wondered  if  she  would  be  equally  suc- 
cessful if  she  wrote  to  the  editor  of  the  "Globe"  and  told 
him  the  havoc  he  had  wrought.  He  would  likely  be  a  nice 
man,  and  would  feel  sorry  that  poor  Old  Watty  could  not 
sing  and  make  melody  in  his  heart  to  the  Lord. 

"Bud,  is  it  very  bad  to  be  a  Tory?"  asked  Janet. 

"A  Tory?"  Bud  cried  indignantly.  "You  bet  it  ain't! 
It's  awful  bad  to  be  a  Grit,  though ;  and  you'd  better  stay 
away  from  Old  Watty.  He's  a  Grit." 

"Well,  I  don't  care;  he's  nice  anyway,"  declared  Janet 
loyally. 

"My  Dad's  a  Tory,"  cried  Bud  proudly. 

"Is  he?"  asked  Janet  rather  vaguely.  "My  father  isn't; 
but  he  isn't  a  Grit  either.  I  think  he's  a  Liberal.  It's  all 
right  to  be  a  Liberal,  isn't  it,  Bud?" 

Bud  was  not  so  sure.  Liberal  had  a  rather  suspicious 
sound,  he  thought. 

"I'll  bet  Satan's  a  Grit,"  he  declared  suddenly. 

"Oh,  my!"  cried  Janet  rather  alarmed.  "Is  God  a 
Tory,  then?" 

Bud  was  rather  staggered  by  this  logical  conclusion.  "I — 
I  don't  know,"  he  stammered. 

"Well,"  declared  Janet,  "I  don't  think  a  Grit  can  be  so 
very  bad;  or  Mr.  Watty  wouldn't  be  one.  But  I'm  going 
to  ask  Mr.  Balfour  what  he  is;  and  whatever  he  is  will 
be  right." 

They  opened  the  gate  that  hung  between  two  bare  sway- 
ing lilac  bushes.  Here  Bud  shoved  the  parcel  into  Janet's 
hands  and  dodged  behind  her.  "You  ask  her!"  he  whis- 
pered and  disappeared. 

Janet  went  up  the  door  and  knocked,  feeling  pleasurably 


A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED  187 

important.  Miss  Sarah  opened  it.  She  was  in  the  midst 
of  her  sewing,  and  had  a  thimble  on  her  finger;  a  piece  of 
measuring  tape  hung  round  her  neck;  and  the  front  of  her 
dress  was  stuck  full  of  pins.  Miss  Sarah  lived  in  the 
pleasant  belief  that  she  was  the  best  dressmaker  in  the 
county  of  Simcoe;  and  that  the  people  of  the  whole 
countryside  were  just  waiting  their  turn  to  come  to  her. 

She  held  up  her  hands  in  laughing  protest  at  the  sight 
of  Janet's  parcel. 

"Another  dress  to  make!"  she  cried.  "These  folks'll 
be  the  death  o'  me.  Why  in  the  world  they  can't  go  to 
somebody  else  once  in  a  while  beats  me !" 

"Please,  Miss  Sarah,"  said  Janet  importantly,  "this  is 
Molly  Kelly's  pink  muslin  dress;  and  her  mother  wants 
to  know  if  you  can  make  it  in  time  for  the  twenty-fourth 
of  May;  because  Miss  Lena  says  Molly  must  have  it  for 
the  picnic.  And  they  hope  it  won't  hurry  you  too  much 
to  get  it  ready."  Bud,  listening  behind  the  lilac  bushes, 
was  filled  with  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  way  Janet 
could  carry  off  such  a  difficult  situation.  And  then  Miss 
Sarah  invited  her  to  come  in  and  the  door  was  shut.  He 
regarded  her  with  deep  gratitude  when  she  came  out 
in  a  few  minutes  with  a  large  cookie,  with  sugar  all  over 
the  top,  for  each  of  them,  and  the  promise  of  Molly's  dress 
weeks  before  the  picnic. 

Mrs.  Murphy  was  out  in  the  yard  behind  the  house,  stand- 
ing over  a  great  cauldron  of  boiling  soap,  and  looking  not 
unlike  an  old  witch,  with  the  smoke  whirling  around  her 
and  the  wind  whipping  her  scant  skirts  and  ragged  little 
shawl.  At  the  sight  of,  her,  Pepper  barked  and  Bud  hesi- 
tated, his  hand  on  the  gate  hook.  He  regarded  the  weird 
figure  askance.  He  had  a  superstitious  fear  of  Mrs.  Murphy 
and  all  her  doings.  Who  knew  what  she  might  be  brewing 
in  that  pot,  which  the  unsuspecting  village  thought  was 
harmless  soap?  Bud  was  not  partial  to  soap,  anyway. 
"I — I  wish  we  didn't  have  to  go  in  here."  he  said,  adding, 
with  a  vague  notion  that  he  was  showing  up  the  worst 


188  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

side  of  Mrs.  Murphy's  character,  "she  don't  eat  meat  in 
Lent!" 

"What  is  Lent?"  enquired  Janet,  half  alarmed.  "Is  it 
worse  than  being  a  Grit?" 

"No;  I  don't  think  so,  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  it's 
Lent  now,  anyhow.  It  always  is  just  before  Easter." 

"But  what  does  it  mean?"  persisted  Janet.  "Is  it  bor- 
rowing something?  Kirsty  says  Mrs.  Murphy  would  bor- 
row the  nose  off  your  face.  But  I  don't  think  she  would, 
do  you?" 

"I  don't  think  she'd  want  to  borrow  Kirsty's  nose,"  af- 
firmed Bud,  with  solemn  conviction.  "But  she  don't  eat 
any  meat  in  Lent,"  he  repeated,  as  though  that  stubborn 
fact  condemned  Mrs.  Murphy  unconditionally. 

The  subject  of  eating  reminded  Janet  of  a  very  real  dan- 
ger. She  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  any  witch-like 
spell  of  Mrs.  Murphy's.  She  liked  her  immensely.  But  she 
was  really  afraid  of  Mrs.  Murphy's  hospitality. 

"Oh,  you'll  have  to  come  with  me,  Bud,"  she  pleaded. 
"She'll  give  me  a  slice  of  bread  with  molasses.  I  know 
she  will.  And  if  she  does,  will  you  eat  my  piece,  too?" 

This  aspect  of  the  case  vitally  changed  the  colour  of 
the  approaching  call.  Bud  gallantly  promised  to  suffer  in 
Janet's  stead,  should  the  hostess  proffer  bread  and  molasses. 
And  he  followed  her  up  the  muddy  little  path  to  the  ver- 
anda; where  they  picked  their  way  among  boxes  and  bar- 
rels and  garden  implements  to  the  door.  Here  Janet, 
very  properly,  made  an  attempt  to  ring  the  bell.  Mrs. 
Murphy's  son,  who  had  built  the  fine  brick  house  for  his 
father  and  mother,  and  placed  every  comfort  in  it  which 
his  generous  Irish  heart  could  think  of,  had  attached  a 
shiny  bell  to  the  front  door.  But  like  everything  else  in 
the  Murphy  establishment  the  bell  was  not  doing  its  work. 
Janet  pulled  in  vain.  But  an  old  hen  was  sitting  on  some 
early  eggs  in  the  ragged  hammock,  that  had  swung  on 
the  veranda  through  all  the  storms  of  winter;  and  she 
took  upon  herself  the  task  of  announcing  the  visitors.  She 
gave  a  squall  at  the  sight  of  Pepper,  flopped  off  her  nest, 


A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED  189 

her  feathers  bulging  indignantly;  and  went  down  the  steps 
screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice  that  somebddy  was  dis- 
turbing her.  Mrs.  Murphy  came  running  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  the  stick  with  which  she  had  been  stirring 
the  witch's  cauldron  waving  above  her  head,  and  dripping 
hot  soap. 

Bud  started  back;  but  Janet  went  to  meet  her,  smiling. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Murphy?"  she  asked  cordially. 
"Mother  sent  me  over  to  see  if  any  of  the  soap  was  ready, 
'cause  Kirsty  is  housecleaning,  and  Bud  came  to  help  me 
carry  the  basket." 

Mrs.  Murphy  was  all  graciousness,  "Sure,  now,  and  it's 
the  darlin'  herself,"  she  cried.  "And  indade  it's  the  best 
soap  I've  got  your  mother'll  have  the  day.  And  it's  poor 
enough  for  the  likes  o'  her.  And  how  is  yer  mother, 
Jinet?  And  yer  poor  father,  sure,  now;  is  it  gettin'  better 
he  is?  And  your  mother,  too,  Buddy,  the  poor  cratur?" 

Janet  and  Bud  followed  her  indoors;  Janet  answering 
all  her  questions  politely.  The  children  looked  around  won- 
deringly  at  the  strange  collection  of  objects  that  filled  the 
room.  There  was  a  set  of  gayly  upholstered  furniture,  that 
Patsy  had  bought,  and  a  fine  new  shiny  table;  but  they 
had  almost  disappeared  from  view  beneath  a  deluge  of 
groceries  in  paper  bags,  empty  fruit  jars,  coal-oil  cans, 
sacks  of  chicken-feed,  kitchen  utensils,  and  all  the  hetero- 
geneous mass  of  objects  that  somehow  gathered  around 
Mrs.  Murphy  as  dust  gathered  around  a  woollen  mop. 

The  hostess  made  no  apology  for  the  disorder,  as  she 
led  her  young  guests  out  to  the  yard  where  the  soap  was 
boiling.  They  followed  her,  eyes  wide  with  curiosity, 
through  the  congested  clutter  of  the  front  room,  through 
the  choked  confusion  of  the  kitchen,  and  scrambled  around 
the  unsurmountable  chaos  of  the  wood  shed.  They  ar- 
rived at  last  in  the  wilderness  of  the  back  yard,  where 
Mrs.  Murphy  carried  on  her  rather  ironical  business  of 
making  soap,  in  an  establishment  where  soap  was  so  lit- 
tle used. 

In  the  centre  of  the  littered  yard  was  a  fire;  and  over 


190  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

it  was  slung  a  huge  cauldron.  Near  it  lay  the  wood  pile, 
which  had  fallen  over  and  was  consequently  more  con- 
venient for  the  fire  than  when  it  was  piled  up.  Over 
by  the  shed  stood  the  leach,  made  of  a  barrel  of  ashes  set 
up  on  a  sloping  platform ;  and  from  it  the  lye  was  dripping 
steadily  into  a  fine  china  tea-pot.  Mrs.  Murphy  did  not 
work  much,  for  she  was  a  gay  body  of  a  very  sociable 
turn,  and  liked  better  to  gossip  over  the  fence.  But  when 
she  did  work,  she  turned  her  household  upside  down  in 
the  effort.  So,  strewn  about  her,  amidst  heaps  of  ashes, 
were  all  the  vessels  the  house  contained,  barrels,  buckets, 
pots,  pails,  frying  pans,  and  even  the  larger  pieces  of  the 
gay  china  dinner-set  which  was  Patsy's  last  Christmas  pres- 
ent. 

It  was  a  place  of  absorbing  interest  even  to  Bud  who 
was  acquainted  with  the  mysteries  of  soap-making  in  his 
own  backyard.  And  Mrs.  Murphy  was  a  perfect  hostess. 
She  allowed  them  to  stir  the  brown  thick  fluid  that  boiled 
in  the  pot  like  rich  maple  syrup.  She  let  them  fetch  water 
from  the  pump  and  pile  wood  on  the  fire;  and  help  her 
mix  the  evil-smelling  grease  with  the  lye ;  and  altogether 
gave  them  a  grand  time.  Janet  and  Bud  could  have  stayed 
all  day;  but  the  sight  of  the  grey-brown  waxy  cubes  of 
hard  soap  piled  on  the  back  veranda  reminded  Janet  of 
her  errand.  And  she  very  reluctantly  had  to  forego  the 
joy  of  soap-making  and  prepare  for  home. 

Mrs.  Murphy  counted  out  a  half-dozen  of  the  largest 
cubes;  and  then  added  another  for  good  measure  in  her 
true  Irish  fashion.  She  ran  into  the  house  and  came  out 
with  an  old  newspaper  in  which  she  wrapped  them. 

"It's  owld  Watty's  paper;  an'  near  the  last  one,  too," 
she  said.  "The  cratur  isn't  takin'  anny  now,  an'  it's  missin* 
them  I'll  be  for  wrappin'  up  me  eggs.  Come  away  in  now 
a  minit,  before  ye  go,"  she  added  with  a  knowing  wink. 

They  followed  her  back  along  the  winding  path  that  led 
through  the  house,  Janet  full  of  foreboding;  Bud  in  joy- 
ous hope,  and  Pepper  sniffing  suspiciously.  Mrs.  Murphy 
led  them  on  into  the  front  room;  and  there  she  dug  up  a 


A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED  191 

paper  bag  from  a  box.  By  good  fortune  the  contents  were 
store-biscuits,  which  Mr.  Murphy  had  brought  from  town. 
They  were  tempting-looking,  brown,  spicy  things;  and  be- 
ing from  a  store  were  doubly  acceptable.  Even  Janet  was 
happy  to  take  one ;  and  Bud  accepted  the  whole  bag  with 
a  gasp  of  astonishment. 

They  had  just  one  adventure  on  their  homeward  journey. 
They  stopped  to  play  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream,  where  it  went  roaring  through  the  back  pas- 
ture. In  their  attempts  to  board  an  iceberg  that  came  sail- 
ing past,  Janet  sank  in  the  mud,  and,  in  Bud's  gallant  at- 
tempt to  rescue  her,  he  upset  the  basket  of  soap.  Only 
one  piece  was  lost,  however;  they  managed  to  save  all  the 
others.  The  fugitive  went  sailing  merrily  down  the  waves, 
on  its  own  foam;  and  the  two  unfortunate  adventurers 
followed  it  along  the  bank,  in  a  despairing  attempt  to  re- 
capture it.  But  it  was  no  use ;  the  water  was  icy  cold,  and 
the  soap  was  very  slippery. 

Janet  became  conscious  of  her  appearance  for  the  first 
time  when  Bud  shoved  the  basket  through  her  back  fence 
and  left  her  and  Pepper  alone.  She  was  dripping  wet,  and 
covered  with  mud,  and  blackened  with  smoke  and  soot ;  and 
altogether  looked  more  like  a  chimney  sweep  than  a  nice 
little  girl  who  had  been  purchasing  soap.  With  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  disarray  came  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
almost  dinner  time,  too,  and  too  late. for  Kirsty  to  use  the 
soap  in  her  morning's  work. 

She  was  making  her  way  slowly  toward  the  back  door, 
fearful  of  the  first  meeting  with  Kirsty,  when,  to  her  great 
joy,  Mr.  Balfour  came  out  of  the  shed.  It  was  always 
such  a  relief  to  meet  him  first;  and  enter  with  him  when 
one  came  home  under  a  cloud.  It  was  like  having  some- 
thing to  break  your  fall  when  you  descended  from  a  great 
height.  He  had  been  looking  over  the  car  to  see  if  it  were 
ready  for  the  road  when  the  mud  should  dry;  and  he  met 
the  little  blackened  and  drowned  figure  face  to  face.  He 
could  not  hide  his  astonishment;  though  he  made  a  heroic 
attempt  to  hide  his  mirth. 


192  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Jenny  Melody!"  he  exclaimed,  "where  ever  have  you 
been?" 

"I've  been  getting  soap  from  Mrs.  Murphy,"  answered 
Janet,  looking  up  at  him  apologetically  from  out  of  an  eye 
so  blackened  that  it  gave  her  a  positively  dissipated  look. 

"Well,  that's  the  last  sort  of  errand  anyone  would  sus- 
pect you  of,"  he  declared,  choking. 

She  slipped  a  little  blackened  hand  into  his,  in  the  way 
that  always  tangled  her  up  with  his  heart  strings. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balf our,  we  had  the  loveliest  time  we  ever  had 
in  all  our  lives,  Bud  and  I;  but  I'm  afraid  I'm  late  and 
Kirsty  won't  like  it.  Do  you, — would  you  mind  if  I  went 
in  at  the  front  door  and  you  took  the  soap  to  her?  I — I'm 
afraid  she'll  say  things." 

Mr.  Balfour  was  quite  sure  she  would  say  things,  very 
many  things  indeed,  and  their  quality  would  equal  the 
quantity.  So  he  took  the  basket  and  went  towards  the 
kitchen  door,  while  Janet  scampered  around  to  the  front. 
He  devoutly  hoped  there  would  be  none  of  the  Ladies' 
Aid  there  to  meet  her,  and  that  she  would  not  fall  into 
the  greater  danger  while  avoiding  the  lesser.  But  for  once 
fortune  favoured  her.  She  met  no  one  until  she  presented 
herself  in  all  her  disarry  before  her  mother's  dismayed  eyes. 
Kirsty  never  knew  the  manner  of  her  home-coming,  and 
she  received  the  basket  graciously  from  the  minister,  as 
Janet  knew  she  would.  For  Mr.  Balfour  was  now  firmly 
placed  high  in  Kirsty's  regard.  He  might  not  be  as  thought- 
ful about  clean  floors  and  a  tidy  wood-shed  as  Mr.  Mel- 
drum,  but  he  had  one  crowning  virtue:  he  called  her  Miss 
McLeod.  That  was  enough.  He  might  walk  up  and  down 
the  kitchen  floor  all  Saturday  morning  if  he  so  chose  and 
no  one  would  dare  to  molest  him. 

As  he  handed  Kirsty  the  basket  he  was  struck  by  a 
peculiarity  in  the  newspaper  that  was  wrapped  about  the 
soap.  It  showed  signs  of  the  perilous  passage  it  had  trav- 
elled via  Janet  and  Bud,  and  it  was  months  old  besides ;  but 
he  found  it  very  interesting.  The  headline  had  been  cut 
off  and  a  new  one  pasted  in  its  place.  When  Kirsty  had 


A  SECOND  RIDDLE  SOLVED  193 

removed  the  soap,  he  took  it  out  carefully;  and  folding  it, 
carried  it  upstairs  to  the  study. 

When  Janet  came  to  visit  him  that  afternoon  he  ques- 
tioned her. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  newspaper?"  he  asked. 

"Mrs.  Murphy  gave  it  to  us.  She  wrapped  the  soap  in 
it,"  Janet  explained.  "There  were  seven  pieces,  but  we 
lost  one  in  the  creek.  I  wanted  to  go  back  and  look  for 
it  this  afternoon;  but  Mother  wouldn't  let  me;  and  Bud 
says  it  will  be  all  into  suds  by  now.  I  hope  it  won't  hurt 
Wright's  cows  if  they  drink  out  of  the  creek.  Do  you 
think  it  will  ?  Perhaps  soapy  water  will  be  good  for  them, 
and  make  them  all  clean  inside." 

"Does  Mrs.  Murphy  take  the  'Globe'  ?" 

"No,  they  don't  take  any  newspapers.  Mrs.  Murphy  says 
reading  is  bad  for  people's  eyes.  But  she  used  to  get  all 
Mr.  Watty's  old  papers.  And  she  says  she  misses  them 
now;  'cause  the  cratur  won't  read  the  'Globe'  any  more. 
Perhaps  I  could  get  Dr.  Gillespie's  'Globe'  and  take  it  to 
Mrs.  Murphy  instead  of  Mr.  Watty.  But  she  doesn't  really 
need  anything  to  make  her  sing  in  her  heart.  I  think 
Mrs.  Murphy  makes  melody  in  her  heart  all  day,  but  I  don't 
know  whether  it's  to  the  Lord  or  not." 

Hugh  Balfour,  looking  over  the  crumpled  newspaper  in 
his  study  alone,  at  a  loss  what  course  to  pursue.  He  knew 
that  to  tell  Old  Watty  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  prac- 
tical joke  would  be  a  greater  blow  to  his  pride  than  even 
the  false  editorial.  The  discovery  disturbed  him  more  than 
he  confessed  even  to  himself.  He  wished  that  the  beauti- 
ful girl  with  the  golden  voice  had  had  no  part  in  the 
affair.  It  was  a  very  little  thing,  to  be  sure,  he  assured 
himself;  just  some  merry  nonsense  of  thoughtless  young 
people.  But  his  heart  demanded  that  Sylvia  be  as  beauti- 
ful in  spirit  as  she  was  in  appearance.  It  seemed  impossible 
to  imagine  her  anything  but  kind  and  considerate. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  Music  LESSON 

JUST  one  more  day,  Pepper !    Just  one  more  day !    Oh, 
Pepper,  don't  you  wish  you  were  going  too  ?" 

Janet  chanted  this  joyous  refrain  as  she  rummaged 
through  her  bureau  drawers  for  collars  and  ribbons,  and  car- 
ried them  to  her  mother's  room  to  be  packed  in  a  suit-case. 
For  a  great  event  was  about  to  happen.  Janet  and  her  mother 
were  going  to  Toronto  to  spend  the  week  of  the  Easter 
holidays.  Aunt  Flora  had  written  asking  them  to  come 
Kirsty  had  promised  to  take  good  care  of  Mr.  Balfour  and 
Pepper  and  Blackie  and  the  hens.  And  Mr.  Balfour  was 
going  away  for  a  few  days'  visit  to  the  West  Hampton 
minister,  and  would  not  be  too  lonesome.  And  they  were 
really  and  truly  to  start  to-morrow !  Janet  was  wild  with 
joy  over  the  prospect  of  her  first  ride  on  the  train,  and 
her  first  visit  to  a  big  city. 

"I  wish  we  could  take  you,  Pepper,"  she  declared,  as 
the  little  dog  poked  his  nose  into  the  box  in  which  she  was 
placing  her  collars.  "I  wish  we  could  take  you,  and  Blackie 
and  Mr.  Balfour,  and  Kirsty,  and  Bud,  and  Nellie,  and 
Baby  Corny, — Oh,  you  bad  boy!" 

Pepper,  who  had  been  looking  into  the  box,  with  his 
head  on  one  side  enquiringly,  here  snatched  Janet's  best 
lace  collar ;  and  made  off  with  it  down  the  hall.  Janet  gave 
chase,  screaming;  they  dashed  into  Mrs.  Meldrum's  room, 
circled  round  a  chair,  and  both  dived  under  the  bed. 

"Janet!"  her  mother  straightened  herself  from  the  suit- 
case in  which  she  was  carefully  placing  her  best  dress, 
"Janet,  child,  what  are  you  doing?  Pepper,  you  naughty 
dog!" 

194 


MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  MUSIC  LESSON   195 

She  caught  him,  as  he  emerged  from  under  the  bed,  and 
rescued  the  collar ;  admonishing  the  thief,  who  did  not  seen* 
the  least  ashamed,  but  wagged  his  tail  and  looked  up,  his 
head  on  one  side,  expecting  some  more  fun. 

As  this  was  the  fourth  interruption  of  this  sort,  Mrs. 
Meldrum  realised  that  if  she  was  to  do  her  packing  that 
morning,  she  must  get  rid  of  the  troublesome  pair  for  half- 
an-hour. 

"Put  on  your  coat,  Janet,  dear,  and  run  down  to  the 
Post  Office,"  she  said.  "Jimmie  Sands  must  be  in  by  this 
time ;  and  Auntie  Flora  may  have  written  again." 

"But  you  need  me  to  help  you  pack,  Mother  dear,"  Janet 
said  generously. 

"I  think  I  can  manage  without  you  for  a  little  while," 
her  mother  said,  concealing  a  smile. 

So  Janet  flung  on  coat,  cap  and  rubbers;  and  she  and 
Pepper  went  splashing  down  the  muddy  village  street. 

It  was  a  dull  rainy  morning  and  Cherry  Hill  seemed  de- 
serted. It  was  the  first  day  of  the  holidays  and  many  of 
Janet's  friends  were  away  from  home.  Nellie  and  Kitty 
had  left  early  in  the  morning  to  visit  an  aunt  in  Algonquin. 
Bud  was  up  at  Miss  Lena's  with  Molly;  even  Miss  Mitchell 
had  left  for  her  home  in  Orchard  Glen.  The  prospect  of 
the  week's  holidays  would  have  been  very  depressing  to 
Janet  under  less  joyful  circumstances. 

Sure  enough  there  was  a  letter  for  her  mother.  Mr. 
MacKay  handed  it  out  along  with  a  pretty,  scented  note  for 
Mr.  Balfour.  Her  mother's  letter  was  from  Aunt  Flora; 
Janet  knew  the  big  square  envelope  and  the  dashing  hand- 
writing, that  went  all  the  way  across  the  surface.  She 
hurried  joyously  homeward  with  it,  arriving  in  such  a  brief 
time  that  her  mother  was  rather  dismayed. 

"Here's  a  letter  from  Auntie  Flora,  and  one  for  Mr. 
Balfour!"  cried  Janet,  dancing  in;  and  pulling  off  her  coat 
and  cap  at  the  same  time. 

Mrs.  Meldrum  took  the  letter  and  sat  down  in  the  little 
rocker.  "Take  Pepper  downstairs  at  once,  Janet;  see,  his 
feet  are  all  muddy;  and  look  at  your  feet.  Why  did  you 


196  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

not  take  off  your  rubbers  at  the  door,  child?  What  will 
Kirsty  say?  Put  Mr.  Balfour's  letter  on  the  hall  stand; 
and  put  your  rubbers  in  the  back  hall.  No,  I  can't  read  the 
letter  until  you  do  as  you  are  told." 

Janet  dashed  away,  returning  in  a  miraculously  short 
time,  eager  to  hear  what  more  good  news  Auntie  Flora's 
letter  might  contain. 

Her  mother  put  her  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  close. 
*'Janet,  darling,  I'm  afraid  I've  got  a  big  disappointment 
for  you.  Auntie  Flora  writes  that  both  Billy  and  Flossie 
have  taken  the  measles.  They  are  a  very  bad  type  and  she 
says  it  would  never  do  to  expose  you  to  them.  She  says  she 
wants  me " 

Mrs.  Meldrum  stopped  suddenly,  at  the  look  of  utter 
despair  on  Janet's  face.  Her  sister  had  urged  her  to  leave 
Janet  in  Kirsty's  care  and  come  herself ;  but  she  had  not  the 
Heart  to  tell  the  child.  She  decided  at  once  that  she  could 
not  leave  her. 

"We  must  just  make  the  best  of  it,  my  girlie,"  her  mother 
said,  after  the  first  exclamations  over  the  disaster.  "Think 
how  thankful  we  should  be  that  you  haven't  the  measles 
like  poor  Billy  and  Flossie.  I  must  write  to  Mrs.  Wallace 
and  tell  her  I  can  go  to  the  West  Hampton  conference  after 
all." 

But  Janet  had  no  meeting  to  console  herself  with;  and 
she  felt  that  even  having  the  measles  would  be  less  dread- 
ful than  this  catastrophe  which  had  befallen  her.  She  went 
slowly  out  of  the  room,  and  dragged  herself  heavily  down- 
stairs to  tell  the  dreadful  news.  Kirsty  was  not  one  given 
to  dispensing  cheer ;  but  she  was  always  sympathetic  in 
times  of  distress.  But  Kirsty  was  unusually  busy,  having 
reached  the  acute  stage  of  her  spring  cleaning;  and  all  the 
comfort  she  vouchsafed  was: 

"It's  the  will  o'  the  Lord  when  sickness  is  sent,  and  poor 
human  craters  have  no  right  to  complain." 

Janet  left  this  Job's  comforter,  and  wandering  through 
the  big  bare  house,  sank  heavily  upon  the  bottom  step  of 
the  stairs.  Pepper  followed  and  stood  before  her,  his 


MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  MUSIC  LESSON   197 

bright,  brown  eyes  asking  plainly  what  was  the  matter. 
Janet  could  only  stroke  his  little  head  in  silent  misery.  It 
was  Kirsty's  melancholy  habit,  whenever  she  was  the 
recipient  of  bad  news,  to  predict  the  speedy  consumma- 
tion of  all  earthly  things.  Janet  felt  that  this  was  surely 
an  occasion  pointing  to  the  imminent  termination  of  the 
earth  and  all  it  contained. 

"It  must  be  the  end  of  the  world,  Pepper,"  she  groaned. 

There  was  a  faint  hope  that  Mr.  Balfour  might  be  in 
his  study  and  she  slowly  mounted  the  stairs.  The  study 
door  stood  open,  and  the  inviting  flag  hung  on  the  knob, 
making  the  one  bright  spot  in  an  utterly  black  world.  But 
like  all  her  other  prospects,  it  proved  a  hollow  mockery. 
The  study  was  empty.  Janet  entered,  and  curling  herself 
up  on  the  sofa  gave  way  to  tears.  She  did  not  often  cry; 
but  she  felt  that  if  ever  a  human  being  had  an  excuse 
she  had  at  this  dreadful  time  of  calamity. 

How  could  one  sing  and  make  melody  in  her  heart  to 
the  Lord  when,  as  Kirsty  plainly  showed,  it  was  the  Lord's 
doings  that  she  had  to  forego  this  wonderful  trip  to  the 
city. 

She  heard  the  hall  door  swing  open  and  shut  in  that 
sudden  way  that  told  Mr.  Balfour  was  entering.  She 
heard  him  put  away  his  hat  and  coat  in  the  hall  below; 
heard  him  tear  open  the  note  she  had  brought  for  him ;  heard 
him  whistling  gaily;  and  then  he  came  up  the  stairs  two 
steps  at  each  leap.  She  made  a  frantic  effort  to  dry  her 
tears  before  he  caught  her.  It  would  be  dreadful  for  him 
to  find  his  little  singer  crying.  She  could  not  find  her  hand- 
kerchief where  it  ought  to  be  in  the  pocket  of  her  gingham 
pinafore;  so  she  took  up  a  corner  of  the  pinafore  itself 
and  hurriedly  brushed  away  the  tears.  Mr.  Balfour  always 
took  the  space  between  the  stair  head  and  the  study  door 
with  one  bound.  She  was  hoping  desperately  that  he  would 
go  to  his  own  room  first ;  but  no,  he  took  the  one  bound ; 
and  there  he  was,  right  in  the  doorway.  She  made  a  gal- 
lant effort ;  and  looking  up  through  her  tears,  said,  "Hello, 


198  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Mr.  Balfour."     And  then,  hunting  hopelessly   for  some- 
thing cheerful  to  say,  she  added,  "Isn't  it  a  lovely  day?" 

He  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was  something  very  badly 
wrong  when  the  little  girl  had  to  make  such  a  tremendous 
effort  to  be  cheery,  with  such  a  poor  result.  He  was  wise 
enough  to  give  her  time  to  recover.  "It  is  so,"  he  declared, 
right  in  the  face  of  the  rain  and  the  howling  wind  out- 
side. He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  "I  de- 
clare I  like  old  March  when  he  goes  off  on  the  rampage 
like  this.  Did  you  ever  hear  that  funny  song  about  the 
jMarch  wind?  No?  Oh,  that  was  the  jolliest  song  ever. 
The  boys  used  to  sing  it  at  college,  it  went  like  this: — 

"Oh  the  mad,  March  morning  merrily  moans 
Making  music,  mist  and  mud!" 

The  sunshine  was  shining  through  the  mist  in  her  eyes, 
by  the  time  the  funny  song  was  finished.  When  he  turned 
from  the  window  she  managed  to  smile  wistfully. 

"You  sing  so  lovely,  Mr.  Balfour;  I  wish  I  could  sing 
like  that." 

"But  think  how  sweetly  you  have  been  singing  in  your 
heart,  for  ever  so  long,  far  better  than  all  the  songs  a  fel- 
low could  sing  out  loud,"  he  said,  still  wondering  what  the 
trouble  was. 

"I  wasn't  when  you  came  in,"  she  faltered.  "I — I,  oh, 
Mr.  Balfour,  I  was  crying." 

"Crying  ?    Oh,  no,  never !    Jenny  Melody  crying !" 

"Yes  I  was,  just  for  a  little  while."  She  was  deeply 
ashamed.  "And  I'm  sure  poor  Mother  is  crying,  too. 
We've  got  an  awful  disappointment.  Auntie  Flora  wrote 
that  Billy  and  Flossie  have  the  measles ;  and  they  can't  have 
me  and  the  measles,  too ;  so  we  have  to  stay  at  home." 

Mr.  Balfour  looked  quite  reasonably  solemn.  "That's 
rather  bad,"  he  said.  "I've  been  disappointed  myself  that 
way  sometimes.  Last  winter  I  wanted  to  visit  a-er- friend ; 
and  she  couldn't  have  me." 

"Oh,  dear,"  Janet  sighed  heavily,  "oHd  her  children  have 
the  measles,  too?" 


MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  MUSIC  LESSON  199 

"No,"  his  eyes  twinkled,  "she  had  something  worse 
than  measles;  she  had  another  visitor.  But,"  he  added, 
hastily,  fearing  she  was  growing  too  much  interested,  and 
that  a  storm  of  questions  might  come  down  upon  him,  "I 
just  had  to  go  and  sing  in  my  heart  harder  than  ever." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Janet  drearily.  "But  it's  pretty  hard 
to  sing  away  down  in  your  stomach  when  you  have  the 
dreadful  feeling  there  that  I  have.  I  had  it  when  Daddy 
went  away;  and  now  it's  there  again." 

"But  when  we're  disappointed  that's  just  the  time  when 
we  have  to  sing  harder  than  ever.  Let's  start  right  now, 
and  see  how  awfully  jolly  we  can  be.  I'll  tell  you  what 
we  can  do.  Let's  pretend  we've  each  just  come  back  from 
a  long  holiday.  We've  each  had  a  wonderful  trip;  and 
we'll  tell  each  other  about  it." 

Janet's  eyes  began  to  brighten.  This  sounded  like  some- 
thing very  good  indeed. 

"Did  I  tell  you  where  I  spent  my  vacation,  Miss  Melody  ?" 
he  asked  with  a  very  pompous  air. 

Janet  leaped  into  the  play.  "Why,  no,  Mr.  Balfour,"  she 
said  in  the  perfect  imitation  of  her  mother's  tone  and 
manner  which  she  was  so  capable  of  taking  on  without 
realising  it,  "I  should  like  so  much  to  hear  about  it." 

"Didn't  I?  Why,  Miss  Melody,  how  could  I  have 
neglected  it?  Why,  I  was  away  on  an  elephant  hunt  in 
Timbuctoo."  He  related  a  wonderful  adventure,  in  which 
he  performed  such  amazing  feats  that  Janet  was  very 
hard  put  to  it  to  maintain  her  grown-up  air,  and  almost 
choked  to  keep  down  a  laugh. 

"And  I  believe  you  said  you  spent  last  winter  in  Cali- 
fornia with  your  father,  did  you  not?"  he  went  on,  after 
he  had  exhausted  his  capacity  for  romancing. 

Miss  Melody  was  ready,  and  more  than  willing.  Oh,  yes, 
and  such  a  very  delightful  time  she  had.  Why,  the  orange 
orchard  which  her  uncle  owned  was  ten  miles  long,  and 
she  used  to  go  out  and  pick  a  barrel  of  oranges  and  lemons 
every  morning  before  breakfast 

That  was  very  interesting;  but  he  was  sure  it  couldn't 


200  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

compare  to  the  orchards  of  Timbuctoo.  The  Emperor  had 
a  grove  of  oranges;  they  were  bigger  than  watermelons; 
and  you  couldn't  get  two  of  them  into  a  barrel  at  once. 

Miss  Melody  came  back  with  the  story  of  a  swim  in  the 
ocean  on  Christmas  Day  among  sharks  and  jellyfish  that 
was  bigger  than  the  house,  and  how  she  rode  away  out  on 
a  whale's  back  until  it  knocked  her  off  and  a  ship  picked 
her  up  and  she  was  nearly  late  for  school  that  morning. 

But  this  was  quite  tame  to  his  experience  with  the  ele- 
phants. They  were  wild,  mad,  elephants  that  used  to  foam 
at  the  mouth  and  climb  trees  and  jump  down  on  the  poor 
people  as  they  passed.  And  the  Emperor  of  Timbuctoo  was 
so  grateful  to  him  for  killing  them  all  off,  that  he  gave  him 
a  palace  to  live  in  as  big  as  the  Algonquin  Hotel,  and  a 
medal  made  of  solid  gold  larger  than  the  windmill  on  the  top 
of  Sinclair's  barn,  and  a  boa  constrictor  to  wear  for  a 
watch  chain. 

This  last  was  too  great  a  strain  on  Janet's  gravity. 
The  grown  up  air  vanished;  she  fell  over  on  the  sofa 
screaming  with  laughter. 

Before  she  had  stopped  laughing,  Mr.  Balfour  was  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  "Now  I've  got  a  game  we're  going  to 
play.  I'm  going  to  sit  down  now  and  write  a  sermon  that 
I  hope  will  make  some  sad  people  sing  in  their  hearts  when 
they  hear  it.  And  while  I  am  writing  it  I  want  you  to 
work  out  a  sermon.  You  go  out  and  look  for  someone  that 
is  more  unfortunate  than  you  have  been  to-day,  someone 
that  is  unhappy,  and  see  what  you  can  do  to  make  him 
sing.  You  did  it  once  before,  remember,  and  think  how 
successful  you  were." 

She  was  up  in  a  moment,  shining-eyed.  "Try  someone 
in  your  own  home  first,  and  then  if  you  can't  do  anything 
here,  go  down  one  side  of  the  village  street  and  up  the 
other  and  then  come  and  tell  me  how  you  have  managed 
and  I  shall  see  if  I  can  get  my  sermon  finished  before  you 
get  back." 

Janet  ran  swiftly  down  the  hall  to  where  her  mother 
was  packing  away  the  clothes  she  had  got  ready  for  the 


MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  MUSIC  LESSON  201 

morrow's  journey.  The  sight  of  them  almost  made  her 
heart  sink  again,  but  here  was  her  own  mother,  as  un- 
happy as  herself  and  she  was  not  helping  her  to  sing.  She 
ran  and  flung  her  arms  about  her.  "Mother,  won't  you 
please  go  without  me  ?"  she  asked.  "Do,  please !  Kirsty 
and  I'll  get  along  lovely;  and  Mr.  Balfour  will  be  here 
nearly  all  the  time.  The  measles  wouldn't  hurt  you,  would 
they?"  Her  mother  looked  at  the  little  girl,  her  eyes 
shining.  It  was  very  sweet  to  be  considered  in  this  way; 
and  Janet  was  young  to  be  so  thoughtful.  She  had  missed 
sorely  any  such  care  since  her  husband  had  left.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  grateful  tears.  "Janet  darling,"  she  said  kiss- 
ing her.  "Auntie  Flora  asked  me  if  I'd  come,  but  I  hated 
to  leave  you.  Are  you  sure  you  won't  be  lonely  and  want 
Mother?"  "Oh,  no,  not  a  bit,  I  won't  miss  you  the  least 
smallest  bit,"  cried  Janet  in  the  exuberance  of  her  anxiety. 
"Please  do  go,  and  we'll  have  lots  of  fun;  and  Mother, 
if  you  do  go  may  I  go  to  Miss  Lena's  and  stay  one  night 
when  Mr.  Balfour  is  away?" 

"You  are  a  generous  darling  to  think  of  wanting  me 
to  go,"  her  mother  said,  "and  if  I  can  arrange  it  I  shall." 
Already  a  pretty  flush  was  on  her  mother's  cheeks.  Janet 
was  overjoyed  with  the  result  of  her  first  attempt.  She 
had  little  trouble  gaining  permission  to  go  on  her  errand ; 
after  her  generous  offer  her  mother  could  not  well  refuse. 
"Well,  dear,  you  may  go,  but  don't  stay  long  with  Mr. 
Watty,  Janet,  I  don't  like  you  being  in  the  damp  musty 
place  so  much;  and  hurry  back,  dear,  before  dinner;  and 
don't  keep  Kirsty  waiting." 

Janet  flung  on  her  coat,  her  cap  and  rubbers  and  set 
off  like  a  young  knight  in  armour,  riding  out  to  right 
wrongs.  The  sun  had  come  out;  the  clouds  were  be- 
ing swept  up  into  glorious  white  heaps  by  the  wind,  and 
were  scudding  away  over  the  gleaming  blue  floor  of  the 
sky.  She  was  very  happy  over  her  mother's  happiness.  It 
seemed  so  wonderful  that  a  disappointment  could  be  so 
pleasant.  Of  course,  it  would  have  been  lovely  to  visit 
Cousin  Flossie  and  ride  on  the  street  cars, — Janet  suddenly 


202  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

pulled  herself  together  and  refused  to  think  of  the  dis- 
appointment. She  paused  before  the  Kelly  home.  She 
was  almost  sure  to  find  someone  there  in  trouble.  But  on 
the  contrary,  the  Kellys  were  in  the  highest  spirits.  Rosie 
screamed  to  her  to  come  on  in  and  see  the  wonderful  pat- 
tern they  had  got  for  Molly's  new  dress.  And  the  beautiful 
piece  of  flannel  that  Molly  had  bought  for  another  dress  for 
Corny.  And  Sarah  Kennedy  said  that  she'd  start  Molly's 
dress  next  week;  and  it  would  be  the  prettiest  sight  in  all 
the  village.  It  was  very  pleasant  at  the  Kellys,  even  with 
Bud  away;  but  it  was  no  place  for  a  person  in  search  of 
misery;  and  Janet  tore  herself  away.  The  Becketts'  house 
came  next.  Martha  Beckett  was  getting  ready  to  visit 
Miss  Mitchell  at  her  home  over  in  Orchard  Glen  for  the 
holidays,  and  Susie  was  going  to  have  a  party  on  Mon- 
day night.  So  there  was  no  need  of  her  help  there.  The 
Gillespie  home  across  the  street  looked  very  trim  and  pretty, 
with  signs  of  tiny  green  fingers  already  being  pushed  up 
through  the  soft  soil.  The  very  sight  of  the  place  brought 
a  recurrence  of  the  terrible  disappointment;  for  Kitty  and 
Nellie  were  visiting  in  Algonquin.  Janet  hurried  past, 
and  ran  up  the  steps  of  MacKay's  store.  Mr.  MacKay, 
the  storekeeper,  was  known  in  Cherry  Hill  as  a  "joky 
body,"  and  seemed  jollier  than  ever  to-day.  He  joked 
with  Janet  and  asked  her  a  new  riddle ;  and  she  had  a 
very  pleasant  little  visit  with  him,  while  she  bought  a 
chocolate  nut-bar.  But  she  had  not  yet  found  her  quest ; 
and  she  ran  down  the  steps  of  the  store  and  crossed  the 
little  bridge.  There  was  just  one  more  place  on  this  side 
of  the  street,  the  Bradley  House;  and  surely  she  could  do 
something  for  poor  Mr.  Watty.  Perhaps  he  would  like 
half  of  the  chocolate  bar.  Across  the  street  she  could  see 
Mrs.  Murphy,  her  old  shawl  wrapped  round  her  shoulders, 
leaning  over  her  fence  to  gossip  with  Miss  Sarah  Kennedy. 
She  could  hear  her  loud  cackling  laughter  and  see  her  put 
her  hand  swiftly  to  her  mouth  to  cover  the  toothless  condi- 
tion. Miss  Sarah  laughed  too  when  Mrs.  Murphy  poked  her 
in  the  ribs.  They  certainly  seemed  in  no  need  of  comfort. 


MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  MUSIC  LESSON  203 

Janet  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  old  Bradley  House;  Old 
Watty  was  at  the  window  as  usual,  but  he  was  not  work- 
ing. The  tools  of  his  trade  were  strewn  on  the  window 
sill  before  him;  and  he  was  sitting  looking  out  into  the 
street,  his  brows  bent,  his  eyes  lowering.  Janet  waved  her 
hand  to  him,  as  was  her  custom,  using  this  announcement 
of  her  arrival,  in  place  of  a  knock;  and  throwing  open 
the  door,  she  burst  in  with  the  sunlight  and  the  wind.  And 
then  she  stopped  suddenly,  shutting  the  door  and  standing 
with  her  back  to  it ;  for  Mr.  Watty  was  not  alone.  A  man 
and  a  woman  were  sitting  by  the  stove,  a  stout  cheery-look- 
ing woman,  in  a  very  fine,  silk  dress,  and  a  long  sealskin 
coat,  and  a  man  in  a  big  coon-skin.  Janet  recognised  them 
at  once.  She  had  met  them  twice  last  winter  at  Miss  Lena's 
home.  This  was  Mr.  Tom  Sinclaio  who  lived  in  the  "Castle" 
Down  Below,  and  the  lady  was  Tom's  Woman,  who  had 
tried  to  feed  poor  Mr.  Watty  on  cold  potatoes  and  humble 
pie. 

Janet  went  forward  in  her  most  friendly  manner  to 
shake  hands. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair  heartily.  "I  didn't  know 
Uncle  Wat  had  such  nice  little  visitors." 

"Oh,  I  come  often,"  said  Janet  when  the  greetings  were 
over.  "I  used  to  come  every  week  when  Mr.  Watty  read 
the  'Globe';  but  you  don't  read  it  any  more,  do  you,  Mr. 
Watty?"  she  asked,  glancing  at  him  with  gentle  reproof. 

Mr.  Watty  merely  grunted.  But  the  other  two  looked 
very  much  interested.  It  was  the  report  of  this  complete 
overturn  in  Uncle  Watty  that  had  encouraged  his  rela- 
tives to  venture  upon  a  visit,  and  see  if  he  had  changed 
as  radically  in  his  attitude  towards  his  family. 

"Well,  well,  we  all  change  our  minds  sometimes,  Janet," 
said  Mr.  Tom  Sinclair.  "I  was  just  saying  that  to  Uncle 
Watty  when  you  came  in." 

"How  is  your  father  getting  on,  Janet?"  asked  Tom's 
iWoman.  "Did  you  hear  from  him  lately?" 

Janet  was  delighted  to  talk  about  her  father.  Yes,  he 
was  getting  stronger  every  day;  and  he  wanted  to  come 


204  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

home  this  spring  and  go  to  work;  and  maybe  he  would 
if  the  Doctor  would  let  him.  And  Mother  was  very  well, 
too ;  she  was  going  to  visit  Auntie  Flora,  in  Toronto.  Here 
Janet  heaved  a  great  sigh. 

"We're  expecting  some  visitors  this  holiday,  too,  if  the 
roads  are  good,"  said  Mrs.  Tom  glancing  towards  Uncle 
Watty,  who  continued  to  stare  moodily  out  of  the  window. 
"We're  hoping  to  have  a  family  gathering  in  Easter  week. 
You  know,  next  Wednesday  is  Grandpa  and  Grandma  Sin- 
clair's golden  wedding  day.  The  whole  family  is  coming 
home;  and  all  Grandpa's  and  Grandma's  brothers  and  sis- 
ters that  are  still  living."  She  paused  and  glanced  towards 
Uncle  Watty  again. 

"Oh,  my,"  cried  Janet.  "Won't  that  be  lovely!  There 
isn't  any  family  at  our  house,  only  me,  and  Mr.  Balfour; 
and  he  doesn't  really  belong  to  us.  And  now  that  Daddy's 
away  we  can't  have  much  of  a  gathering.  And  Mother 
and  I  were  going  to  Auntie  Flora's  in  Toronto,"  she  burst 
out,  forgetting  that  she  had  come  to  bring  cheer  and  not 
to  tell  her  troubles. 

"We  were  all  ready  to  go  and  Cousin  Billy  and  Cousin 
Flossie  went  and  got  the  measles,  and  Mother's  got  to  go 
alone.  And  Mr.  Balfour's  going  away  to  preach  in  Algon- 
quin and  I'll  be  all  alone  with  Kirsty." 

"Well,  well,  that's  really  too  bad,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair 
sympathetically.  "I  think  you'll  have  to  come  and  join  our 
family  gathering.  How  would  you  like  that  ?" 

There  was  no  need  to  ask.  Janet  looked  at  him  with  a 
great  "Oh!"  and  was  silent  from  sheer  inability  to  speak. 

Mrs.  Tom  smiled.  She  was  a  shrewd  woman  and  she 
suddenly  saw  in  Janet  a  possible  lever  for  the  difficult  pry- 
ing away  of  Uncle  Watty  from  his  disgraceful  surround- 
ings. 

"Would  your  mother  let  you  come,  Janet?"  she  asked 
eagerly;  and  then  she  made  her  great  venture,  "Perhaps 
Uncle  Watty  is  coming,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Janet  fairly  leaped  into  the  air.  "Oh,  oh,  please,  Tom's 
Woman!  Oh,  do  you  really  think  Mother  would  let  me 


MR.  WATTY  TAKES  A  MUSIC  LESSON  205 

go?  Oh,  Mr.  Watty!"  she  jumped  off  her  box  and  fairly 
launched  herself  on  top  of  the  old  man.  "Oh,  I  do  be- 
lieve that  if  you'd  ask  Mother  she'd  let  me  go  with  you, 
Mr.  Watty!  Oh,  Mr.  Watty!  May  I  run  and  ask  her 
now?  Shall  I  tell  her  you're  going  and  you'll  take  me? 
Oh,  please,  please,  Mr.  Watty !" 

When  Janet  was  especially  excited  over  anything  she 
curled  up  one  foot  under  her  short  skirt  and  jigged  up 
and  down  on  the  other  in  the  manner  of  a  Highland  dancer. 
She  was  leaping  about  the  old  man  now,  her  eyes  blazing 
with  excitement,  keeping  time  to  her  dance  with  the  re- 
curring, "Oh,  Mr.  Watty!  Oh,  Mr.  Watty!  Will  you 
ask  her?  Will  you  ask  her?" 

Old  Watty  turned  and  looked  at  her.  For  a  moment  he 
struggled  with  the  stubborn  spirit  that  still  lived  within 
him;  but  it  was  not  in  mortal  power  to  resist  long  the 
anguished  pleading  in  Janet's  eyes.  He  tried  to  hold  back 
a  smile,  but  it  broke  the  ice  of  his  countenance  in  spite  of 
him.  "Huh !  huts,  tuts !"  he  sputtered,  "such  a  like  Collie- 
Shankie  about  goin'  doon  the  road.  Run  awa'  then,  and 
ask  ye  Mother.  But  tell  her  I'm  no  so  sure  o'  goin' !  But 
if  I  do  go  I'll  take  ye  with  me,  but  mind  ye,  I'm  no  so 
sure !" 

But  Janet  was  fairly  wrenching  the  handle  off  the  door  in 
an  effort  to  get  out,  and  did  not  heed  his  warnings.  Like 
a  wise  general  who  sees  the  moment  to  strike,  Tom's 
woman  arose  hurriedly. 

"I'll  go  with  you,  Janet,  and  ask  your  mother  if  you 
can  come  with  me — for  fear  Uncle  Watty  doesn't  decide 
to  go,"  she  added  this  last  with  great  emphasis,  for  Tom's 
woman,  in  spite  of  the  blunder  of  the  potato  salad,  knew 
Uncle  Watty  better  than  her  husband  did. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  when  Hugh  Balfour,  coming 
out  of  his  study  to  see  how  Janet's  sermon  had  been  worked 
out,  met  a  wild  and  dishevelled  little  creature  coming  down 
the  hall,  dragging  an  old  telescope  valise,  blind  and  deaf 
to  her  mother's  admonitions.  "Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  Mr.  Bal- 
four!" it  was  shrieking,  "I'm  going!  I'm  going!  I'm  going 


206  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Down  Below  to  see  the  Castle  and  Mr.  Watty  and  Tom's 
Woman !  And  they've  got  calves  and  lambs  and  little  pigs  ! 
And  I  didn't  get  anyone  that  couldn't  sing !  And  we're  all 
going  together!  And,  oh,  I  think  I'm  going  clean  daft!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 
ON  A  SINGING  TOUR 

THE  wind  was  hushed,  and  the  soft  spring  twilight 
was  falling  over  the  purple  hollows  when  a  big  car 
with  a  party  of  four  turned   in  at  the  gate  of  the   old 
Sinclair  homestead  and  ran  up  the  poplar-lined  lane. 

The  old  Sinclair  farm  from  which  politics  and  prosperity 
had  driven  Old  Watty,  was  situated  in  that  region  between 
Cherry  Hill  and  Lake  Simcoe  known  as  "Down  Below." 
This  stretch  of  rolling  hill  and  wide  valley  and  winding 
roads,  fringed  with  towering  elms,  was  as  fertile  as  it 
was  beautiful.  In  spite  of  this,  or  perhaps  because  of  it, 
the  population  was  small  and  was  steadily  decreasing.  The 
farmers  had  prospered  sufficiently  to  give  their  families 
an  education;  and  when  they  had  left  to  get  it,  they  had 
never  come  back. 

Like  its  neighbours,  the  old  Sinclair  homestead  was  well 
on  its  way  to  desertion.  It  was  the  most  pretentious  of 
all  the  handsome  houses  in  the  district,  so  extravagant  in- 
deed that  the  jealous  countryside  had  dubbed  it  the 
"Castle."  It  was  a  huge,  three-story,  red-brick  building, 
very  much  ornamented,  and  stuck  all  over  with  verandas,' 
balconies  and  bay-windows.  It  had  wide  lawns  surrounded 
by  hedges  and  shrubs ;  and  was  approached  by  a  beautiful 
winding  lane  of  stately  poplars.  But  on  every  side  the  Sin- 
clair home  had  the  appearance  of  being  too  great  for  the 
hands  that  held  it.  In  summer  the  lawns  were  grown  up  in 
hay,  the  flower-gardens  in  weeds.  The  shrubs  were  un- 
trimmed,  the  fences  unmended;  and  the  Castle  itself  was 
in  great  need  of  paint. 

207 


208  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

In  it  could  be  read  the  story  of  many  an  Ontario  farm- 
house. It  had  been  built  when  there  was  a  big  family 
to  live  in  it,  and  many  hands  to  do  the  work;  and  by  the 
time  it  was  finished  the  family  had  gone  out  into  the  world 
and  left  it,  like  an  abandoned  shell  on  the  sea-shore.  There 
had  been  ten  children  reared  in  the  little  old  house  near 
the  barn,  which  was  now  used  as  a  hen-house ;  ten  besides 
Sylvia  Ward  who  had  spent  most  of  her  childhood  within 
its  cramped  walls.  But  now,  only  the  old  people  with 
their  youngest  son  and  his  ambitious  wife  and  daughter 
occupied  the  Castle.  And  Tom's  Woman  and  Tom's  girl 
were  hoping  that  each  year  would  be  their  last  beneath  its 
wide  roof. 

So  the  Sinclair  family  were  to  have  one  last  gathering  on 
the  old  home-place  before  it  passed  into  the  hands  of 
strangers.  Every  member  who  could  possibly  come  home 
was  to  be  there;  and  Tom's  family  were  all  nervously 
anxious  that  Uncle  Watty  should  become  reconciled  before 
the  family  should  journey  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  and 
discover  him  in  the  ignominy  of  the  Bradley  House. 

The  stately  poplars  of  the  long  lane  stood  dark  against 
the  faint  rose-colored  sky  as  the  big  car  moved  swiftly  up 
from  the  road.  At  the  sound  of  the  horn,  the  door  leading 
to  the  back  veranda  was  thrown  open;  and  Grandma  Sin- 
clair, in  her  white  apron  and  her  little  black  knitted  shawl, 
came  hurriedly  out  to  meet  them.  Grandpa  Sinclair,  who 
was  stone  deaf,  saw  her  go,  and  stumbling  after  her,  his 
white  hair  shining  in  the  lights  from  the  car  lamps.  They 
did  not  know  what  success  Tom  and  his  wife  had  had ;  and 
were  anxiously  awaiting  the  possible  return  of  the  prodigal. 

But  in  spite  of  much  joy  and  relief  there  was  no  dem- 
onstration as  old  Watty,  after  five  years'  absence,  walked 
back  into  the  old  home.  His  brother  said,  "Aye,  Watty, 
lad,"  and  shook  hands  hurriedly.  His  sister-in-law  re- 
marked that  it  was  a  fine  night ;  and  Old  Watty  responded 
that  it  was  that, — fine.  Bessie,  the  eighteen-year-old  daugh- 
ter of  the  family,  cried,  "Hello,  Uncle  Watty,"  and  the 
reconciliation  was  complete. 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  209 

Janet  was  led  into  the  big,  warm  kitchen,  where  Bessie 
had  laid  out  the  supper  on  the  white  oil-cloth  covered  table. 
There  were  sixteen  rooms  beyond  the  door  against  which 
the  table  was  set,  but  even  the  ambitious  Mrs.  Tom  had 
long  ago  given  up  trying  to  use  them,  and  Grandpa  and 
Grandma  never  went  far  from  the  kitchen  stove,  and  only 
when  there  was  company  was  the  big  house  heated. 

Janet  was  too  tired  and  sleepy  even  to  eat  her  supper, 
and  went  stumbling  up  the  stairs  after  Bessie  to  fall  in- 
stantly asleep  in  a  chilly  bed  that  she  dimly  felt  was  big 
enough  to  hold  all  the  girls  in  Cherry  Hill  school.  But 
she  was  up  early  the  next  morning,  ready  for  a  tremendous 
day's  activity.  She  sat  next  to  Mr.  Watty  at  breakfast; 
and  her  gay  busy  presence  helped  him  to  resume  his  old 
place  with  less  awkwardness  than  if  he  had  been  alone. 

Grandma  Sinclair  was  a  kind  old  lady  whom  Janet  loved 
the  moment  she  set  eyes  on  her ;  and  Grandpa  was  just  Mr. 
Watty  over  again,  only  that  he  was  very  deaf  and  very 
silent. 

Janet  was  very  much  interested  in  the  young  lady  of 
the  family;  because  she  looked  just  a  little  like  Miss  Sylvia. 
Only,  instead  of  Sylvia's  bright  radiance,  Bessie  wore  a 
face  of  rebellious  discontent.  Janet  studied  her  as  she  ate 
her  porridge  and  rich  cream.  She  concluded  to  put  her  up 
with  the  Stand  Bys,  seeing  she  was  Mr.  Watty's  niece,  and 
Miss  Lena's  cousin ;  but  had  to  admit  that  her  fixed  frown, 
and  her  constant  complaining  made  her  look  very  much 
like  a  "Pickin'  and  Leavin'."  She  was  sure  that  what  Bessie 
needed  was  to  learn  to  sing  inside  her. 

For  the  first  day  Janet  ran  wildly  about  the  farm,  drag- 
ging Mr.  Watty  with  her.  He  had  intended  to  sit,  morose 
and  forbidding,  behind  the  kitchen  stove;  but  Janet  gave 
him  no  opportunity  to  show  his  continued  disapproval  of 
the  family ;  and  he  would  not  confess,  even  to  himself,  that 
he  was  just  as  anxious  as  she  to  look  over  the  old  place,  and 
was  secretly  glad  that  she  insisted  upon  taking  him  with 
her. 

Janet  had  often  visited,  briefly,  at  the  different   farm 


210  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

homes  in  the  congregation;  but  this  was  the  first  time  in 
her  life  she  had  had  an  opportunity  to  become  intimately 
acquainted  with  all  the  wonders  of  a  farm  yard.  At  any 
time  of  the  year  it  would  have  been  an  interesting  place 
to  her ;  but  in  the  spring,  with  all  the  young  things  coming 
to  life,  it  presented  a  world  of  wonders.  There  were  new 
chickens  coming  peep,  peep,  out  of  the  shell,  new  calves, 
new  lambs,  and  a  funny  little  colt  set  away  up  on  his  ridicu- 
lous sticks  of  legs.  Janet  came  in  from  her  first  inspection 
of  it  all  and  sat  down  at  the  dinner  table,  too  excited  to 
eat. 

"Oh,  Grandma !"  she  cried,  having  adopted  Bessie's  title 
for  the  old  people,  "everything  in  the  barn  yard  isn't  any 
more  than  a  few  days  old !  Did  you  get  all  these  new  things 
because  you  knew  Mr.  Watty  was  coming  home?"  And 
they  all  laughed  aloud,  Uncle  Watty  joining. 

She  kept  them  all  in  constant  laughter  by  her  excitement 
and  her  rapturous  exclamations.  Every  hour  she  would 
come  tearing  in  from  the  barn  to  announce  that  still 
another  new  gift  had  been  showered  upon  them. 

The  lambs  presented  the  greatest  wonder.  At  home  it 
had  been  exciting  enough  to  go  out  and  find  a  new  tulip 
coming  up  in  the  spring,  or  a  new  rose  on  Father's  favourite 
bush.  But  to  run  out  into  the  field  behind  the  barn  and 
discover  a  new  lamb,  a  real  live,  woolly,  baa-ing  lamb, 
grown  up  in  the  night,  full  blown,  without  either  root  or 
branch ;  why,  it  was  a  miracle ! 

Each  morning  she  was  up  earlier  than  the  one  before, 
and  dressing  in  mad  haste,  with  her  long  hair  in  such  a 
state  as  would  have  driven  Kirsty  clean  daft,  away  went 
Janet  over  the  brown  fields  to  see  what  crop  of  lambs  the 
night  had  brought  forth.  And  just  as  the  family  were 
gathering  for  the  early  farm  breakfast,  she  would  come 
tearing  back,  her  dishevelled  braid  blown  on  the  wind,  her 
face  red  with  excitement,  screaming,  "There's  another ! 
Oh,  oh,  Mr.  Watty!  Grandpa!  There's  another  lamb  in 
bloom !" 

And  the  morning  she  discovered  twins:  two  staggering, 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  211 

whimpering,  wee  fellows,  shivering  close  to  their  mother, 
in  their  tiny  woolly  garments,  Janet  threw  the  whole  house- 
hold into  consternation.  They  were  just  sitting  down  to 
breakfast,  when  a  wild  figure  came  whirling  past  the  win- 
dow, and  leaped  into  the  kitchen.  Janet's  eyes  were  start- 
ing from  her  head,  and  she  danced  up  and  down  on  one 
foot  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  gasping  incoherently,  in- 
capable of  telling  what  it  was  all  about.  Grandma  Sinclair 
cried  out  in  alarm;  Tom's  woman  ran  for  the  Painkiller 
bottle;  and  Grandpa,  who  was  stone  deaf,  and  had  lived  in 
terror  of  a  fire  ever  since  the  new  house  had  been  built, 
became  suddenly  convinced  that  Janet's  convulsions  meant 
that  the  Castle  was  in  flames,  and  grabbing  up  the  water 
pail,  he  started  for  the  stairs. 

Every  day  was  surely  a  fresh  beginning,  every  morning 
was  the  world  of  little  living  things  made  new.  The 
lambs  were  not  the  only  rapture.  There  were  new  kittens 
in  the  barn ;  and  there  was  always  a  new  hen  coming  out 
of  some  obscure  corner,  ruffled  and  worried,  and  exceed- 
ingly proud  and  disagreeable,  surrounded  by  a  busy  cloud 
of  peeping  adorable  yellow  chicks.  One  day  Mr.  Tom 
called  to  Janet  when  she  was  helping  Bessie  get  the  potatoes 
for  dinner,  and  she  ran  down  to  the  stable.  He  was  smiling 
in  a  mysterious  manner,  and  led  her  to  the  pen  where  a 
cross  old  pig  was  kept  shut  up.  And  there  lay  the  old 
sow  on  her  side  in  the  hay,  and  beside  her,  in  a  perfect 
mathematically  straight  row,  were  ranged  nine  little  cylin- 
drical bodies,  all  exactly  the  same  size,  each  with  exactly 
the  same  little  squeak  in  it ;  some  white,  some  pale  pink, 
and  one  perfect  little  gem  of  a  fellow,  beautifully  speckled. 
Janet  hung  onto  the  side  of  the  pen,  and  screamed  until 
Mr.  Tom  was  so  weak  with  laughter  he  had  to  go  and  lie 
down  in  the  hay. 

Another  miracle  was  old  Solomon,  the  barn  cat.  Sylvia 
had  called  him  Solomon,  Bessie  explained,  because  he  was 
so  wise.  And  he  surely  was  a  clever  cat.  Janet  never 
missed  the  evening  milking,  so  that  she  might  see  Solomon 
being  fed.  He  did  not  wait  for  a  saucer  like  a  respectable 


212  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

house  cat,  for  Solomon  was  a  bold  rascal  and  not  the  least 
bit  civilised  or  mannerly  in  his  habits.  And  so  when  Bessie 
was  milking,  he  would  stand  up  a  few  yards  away,  open 
his  mouth  and  receive  a  strong  stream  of  milk  straigh: 
from  its  source.  And  Solomon  would  swallow  it  without 
winking  a  whisker,  just  as  long  as  it  was  administered. 
Then,  there  was  the  house-pussy,  who  was  very  nice,  but, 
of  course,  not  at  all  like  Blackie.  And  there  was  old  Sport, 
the  dog,  who  wasn't  really  a  sport  at  all,  like  Pepper,  but 
a  very  quiet  solemn  old  fellow. 

And  if  there  was  anything  in  the  world  funnier  than 
seeing  Solomon  fed,  it  was  watching  the  calves  get  their 
supper.  Such  ill-mannered  scamps  as  they  were,  either 
shoving  their  foolish  little  heads  into  the  pail  so  far  that 
they  choked,  or  knocking  it  out  of  Bessie's  hands  altogether. 

Although  Janet  was  so  absorbed  in  the  barn  yard  and 
all  its  exciting  doings,  she  found  time  to  be  very  useful  to 
Mrs.  Tom  and  her  daughter.  She  ran  on  errands  to  the 
barn  and  upstairs  and  down  cellar.  She  dried  the  dishes, 
and  helped  prepare  the  vegetables,  and  did  all  the  delight- 
ful things  that  Kirsty  forbade  her  doing  at  home.  The  two 
women  found  her  very  helpful,  for  they  were  extremely 
busy  preparing  for  the  great  family  gathering.  The  big 
rooms  were  opened  and  swept  and  aired;  and  Old  Watty 
found  himself  falling  back  into  his  old  employment  of  fire- 
man; and  he  and  Janet  had  very  happy  times  looking  after 
the  stoves. 

It  was  a  very  large  family  that  was  coming  back  to 
the  old  home :  a  family  that  had  made  an  honourable  place 
for  itself  in  the  world.  Only  two  had  remained  on  the 
land :  the  Sinclair  of  Cherry  Hill,  and  Tom  in  the  old  home. 
There  was  a  doctor  in  Algonquin,  a  lawyer  in  Toronto,  a 
member  of  Parliament  on  the  prairie,  and  a  minister  in  a 
large  city  charge.  The  four  girls  had  all  been  educated, 
and  had  married  well;  which  meant  that  they  had  not 
married  farmers.  Only  one  had  gone  to  the  land  beyond ; 
and  she  had  left  her  baby  Sylvia  to  grow  up  the  pet  of  all 
the  Sinclair  family. 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  213 

Much  to  Janet's  joy  the  heralds  of  the  advancing  crowd 
were  Miss  Lena  and  her  mother.  They  came  to  help  with 
the  preparations  and  the  father,  with  Sam,  and  Annie  were 
to  come  later. 

"Molly's  keeping  house  just  beautifully,"  Miss  Lena  told 
Janet,  when  the  first  rapturous  greeting  was  over.  "She 
and  Bud  are  looking  after  things  until  Father  and  Sam 
come  down." 

"Did  you  see  Mr.  Balfour?"  asked  Janet,  feeling,  in 
spite  of  the  lambs  and  the  little  new  pigs,  that  she  had 
been  away  from  home  a  very  long  time. 

Miss  Lena  flushed.  "Yes,  he's  coming  down  to  take  you 
home  when  your  mother  gets  back,  Janet.  Aunt  Jennie  asked 
him  to  the  Golden  Wedding,  because  he  was  so  good  to 
Uncle  Watty." 

Janet  began  hopping  up  and  down.  "Oh,  oh,  if  Mother 
was  only  coming,  then  there'd  be  nothing  in  the  world 
I'd  want.  But  Mother's  having  a  lovely  time  in  Toronto ; 
and  I  wrote  and  told  her  all  about  the  little  pigs  and  Solo- 
mon ;  so  she  isn't  missing  everything.  Oh,  Miss  Lena,  aren't 
you  glad  Mr.  Balfour  is  coming?" 

Miss  Lena  looked  very  glad  indeed;  but  there  was  not 
much  time  to  linger  over  even  such  a  delightful  subject. 
There  was  much  work  to  be  done.  Mrs.  Tom  was  carrying 
on  the  baking  on  a  prodigious  scale ;  and  Miss  Lena  was  her 
chief  help. 

Grandpa  sat  behind  the  kitchen  stove  and  dozed  or  read 
in  all  the  rush;  and  Grandma  went  about  keeping  an  eye 
on  all  that  was  done  to  see  that  it  was  done  just  right. 
Uncle  Watty  brought  in  wood  and  water,  and  once  Janet 
caught  him  slyly  reading  the  "Globe"  in  the  evening  when 
it  was  brought  in  from  the  mail-box  at  the  gate. 

And  then  the  children  began  to  come  home.  The  doctor 
with  his  wife  and  grown-up  son  and  daughter  from  Algon- 
quin were  the  first,  followed  closely  by  the  minister  and 
his  family:  one  of  them  a  tall  young  man  who  was  study- 
ing to  be  a  minister  himself.  There  was  the  Member  of 
Parliament  from  the  West,  who  brought  a  grown-up  son 


214  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  a  nice  little  boy  just  Janet's  age.  There  were  three 
married  daughters  who  came  with  such  a  lovely  crowd  of 
youngsters  that,  for  a  while,  Janet  forgot  about  the  lambs 
and  the  pigs  in  this  dazzling  new  situation.  It  was  almost 
as  good  as  if  all  Cherry  Hill  school  went  to  live  in  one 
house.  Such  a  crowd  as  there  was,  and  such  fun  trying 
to  find  sleeping  accommodation  for  them  all  at  night,  with 
the  children  four  in  a  bed !  And  then  there  was  such  a 
joyous  stir  and  coming  and  going;  such  a  running  to  and 
fro,  with  everyone  trying  to  do  the  same  thing  at  once,  and 
all  getting  in  each  other's  way.  Grandpa  and  Grandma 
went  about  in  a  happy  daze;  and  Uncle  Watty  was  so 
petted  and  pampered  that  the  Bradley  House  with  its  gloom 
and  its  rheumatism  seemed  like  a  bad  dream. 

Everyone  made  so  much  of  Janet  that  if  she  had  been 
given  to  noticing  the  attention  paid  herself  she  would  have 
wondered  what  she  had  done  to  make  them  all  like  her 
so.  As  it  was  she  accepted  the  rapture  of  the  occasion 
unquestioning.  She  led  the  children  everywhere.  They  ran 
and  climbed  into  the  mow,  and  chased  the  calves,  and 
played  hide-and-seek  in  the  barn  yard;  and  Janet  ran  at 
the  head  of  the  mad  procession  from  the  first  streak  of 
dawn  till  she  fell  into  bed  at  night,  too  worn  out  even  to 
speak. 

And  then,  on  the  third  day,  when  the  big  rooms  were 
all  open;  and  Uncle  Watty's  fires  dancing  brightly;  and 
the  family  laughing  and  chatting  all  over  the  house,  a 
great,  long,  grey  car  swept  down  the  road,  and  turning 
in  at  the  gate,  came  purring  up  the  lane  between  the  poplars. 

"Girls!"  called  Mary's  Mary,  who  was  a  lively  young 
lady  of  eighteen,  "here's  Sylvia  at  last!  And  I  do  believe 
she's  bringing  that  rich  man  with  her !" 

"Syl  would  be  sure  to  wait  till  all  the  work  was  done," 
remarked  Bessie.  "Yes,  that's  the  car  that  belongs  to 
that  Hilton  man ;  isn't  it,  Lena  ?" 

The  cousins  and  aunts,  and  a  good  many  of  the  uncles 
were  all  at  the  door  by  this  time  to  welcome  the  latest  ar- 
rival. 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  215 

"That's  Mr.  Hilton,"  whispered  Willie's  Alice,  who  lived 
in  Algonquin  and  kept  a  jealous  eye  on  her  pretty  cousin. 
"He's  a  banker,  and  he's  awfully  rich ;  but  Sylvia  won't  tell 
us  whether  she's  engaged  to  him  or  not.  Hello,  Sylvie !  Oh, 
Sylvie!" 

Grandma  hurried  out  and  clasped  the  girl  in  her  arms, 
holding  her  closer  and  longer  than  any  of  the  others,  for 
the  sake  of  the  one  who  would  not  be  at  the  Golden  Wed- 
ding. 

"Eh,  Sylvia,"  she  cried,  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  "I  thought 
you  were  never  coming,  hinny." 

"Oh,  Granny,  love!  I  was  just  dying  to  come  last  week; 
but  I  had  to  stay  to  sing  at  a  poky  concert.  No,  Mr. 
Hilton  has  to  go  right  back.  Goodness,  you  don't  want  him 
to  come  to  a  family  gathering  yet,  do  you?" 

The  house  had  been  noisy  and  gay  before,  but  with  the 
advent  of  Sylvia  it  grew  positively  riotous.  She  was  the 
centre  of  all  the  merriment.  She  played  ball  with  the 
youngsters  in  the  field,  and  checkers  with  Grandpa  by  the 
kitchen  fire.  She  made  Uncle  Watty  shout  with  laughter, 
imitating  the  fat  professor  who  gave  her  music  lessons,  and 
she  made  them  all  cry,  as  she  sat  at  the  piano  in  the  twi- 
light, and  sang  the  old,  old  home  songs  they  all  loved. 

"This  dear  old  farm's  the  loveliest  place  in  the  world, 
after  all,"  declared  Sylvia,  as  the  young  people  gathered  on 
the  sunny  back  porch  to  prepare  the  vegetables  for  dinner. 
"If  you  won't  stay  here,  Bess,  I  believe  I'll  have  to  marry 
a  farmer  myself,  and  take  it  over.  Cousin  John,  wouldn't 
you  rather  be  a  farmer  and  settle  down  here  with  me  than 
go  preaching?" 

"Perhaps  that  fellow  that  belongs  to  the  big  car  would 
accept  your  offer,  Sylvie,"  cried  another  boy-cousin.  "He 
looks  rich,  so  you  could  keep  the  car,  and  scoot  into  town 
every  night  after  you'd  fed  the  pigs." 

"But  it  is  lovely  here,"  declared  Cousin  Walter,  who  had 
never  before  been  away  from  the  prairies.  "It  looks  like 
fairyland  to  me,"  he  gazed  dreamily  over  the  sunny  blue 


216  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  dun  hills  and  hollows.  "Why  do  you  want  to  get  away 
so  much,  Bessie?  Just  look  at  that!" 

Bessie  followed  his  gaze.  "Look  at  what?"  she  asked 
blankly.  He  swept  his  hand  towards  the  wide  valley,  lying 
warm  and  golden  brown  in  the  sunlight,  smilingly  waiting 
for  the  great  command,  "Let  the  earth  bring  forth."  But 
Bessie  Sinclair  belonged  to  the  unfortunate  ones  of  the 
world  whose  eyes  are  holden.  She  had  never  seen  the  lovely 
pageant  of  hill  and  valley,  that  rolled  away  from  her  door 
down  to  Lake  Simcoe.  A  wheat  field  by  the  lake's  brim  a 
yellow  wheat  field  was  to  her,  and  it  was  nothing  more.  And 
what  so  common  as  a  field? 

"An  Ontario  farm  may  be  nice  to  look  at,"  she  admitted, 
"but  it's  a  dreadful  place  to  live  on."  She  took  vicious 
slices  off  the  potato  she  was  peeling.  "And  I'd  like  to  see 
Sylvie  milk  six  cows,  and  feed  the  calves,  and  get  the  meals 
for  three  or  four  men  in  haying  time,"  she  added.  "You 
left  this  farm  yourself,  Sylvia  Ward,  and  you  know  you 
couldn't  be  paid  to  stay." 

It  was  one  of  poor  Bessie's  many  grievances  that  Sylvia, 
who  had  been  brought  up  as  her  sister,  should  have  been 
allowed  to  go  out  into  the  world,  while  she  remained. 

Sylvia  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Why  do  you  do  it, 
then?"  she  asked,  seating  herself  in  the  sunshine,  where 
her  hair  shone  like  burnished  copper.  "I  make  it  a  rule  of 
my  life  not  to  do  things  I  hate ;  and  then  everything's  nice 
and  pleasant." 

"Indeed  I  know  you  do!"  cried  her  cousin  resentfully. 
"But  I'm  not  that  kind.  How  could  I  go  away  and  leave 
Mother  and  Grandma  to  do  all  this  work?  You  can't  get 
a  hired  girl,  not  if  you  gave  her  the  farm.  Lena's  just  the 
same ;  she  doesn't  want  to  stay  home  any  more  than  I  do. 
Do  you,  Lena?" 

"Never  mind,  Lena,"  cried  her  Cousin  Alice  from  Algon- 
quin. "It  won't  be  so  hard  when  you  live  in  a  manse.  A 
preacher  doesn't  keep  pigs  and  calves." 

Lena's  sallow  face  flushed  painfully,  and  Sylvia  Ward 
darted  a  bright  searching  glance  at  her  cousin. 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  217 

Janet  and  the  little  boy  from  the  prairie  had  been  sitting 
on  the  steps  helping  with  the  potatoes  and  listening  intently 
to  every  word  that  was  said. 

"Oh,  Bessie,"  Janet  cried  suddenly,  "if  you'd  only  sing 
away  down  in  your  stomach,  you'd  like  living  on  the  farm. 
It  makes  you  like  most  everything !" 

Bessie  joined  the  laughter  in  spite  of  her  ill-humour. 
"You  really  are  the  funniest  little  kid  I  ever  saw.  What 
are  you  talking  about?" 

So  Janet  explained  all  about  the  silent  singing  which 
Mr.  Balfour  had  taught  her,  and  Sylvia  Ward  came  and 
sat  beside  the  little  girl  and  listened,  her  eyes  downcast, 
her  laughing  mood  turned  to  seriousness. 

"What's  the  joke  about  Lena  and  a  preacher?"  asked 
John's  Margaret,  from  Toronto,  as  she  followed  Sylvia  to 
the  barn  gate.  "Is  she  going  to  marry  this  minister  the  little 
Meldrum  kiddy  is  so  crazy  about  ?" 

Sylvia  was  always  cheery  and  good  natured,  so  Mar- 
garet was  surprised  when  she  answered  rather  impatiently : 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no!  That's  only  Alice's  nonsense.  He 
never  looks  at  poor,  old  Lena." 

Miss  Margaret  Sinclair  was  twenty  and  very  wise  in 
the  ways  of  young  women.  She  looked  at  her  cousin 
quizzically.  "Perhaps  he's  been  looking  in  another  direc- 
tion," she  suggested  slyly.  "I've  been  wondering  why  you 
were  spending  so  much  time  at  Cherry  Hill  lately."  She 
was  rewarded  by  seeing  the  rose-colour  deepen  in  Sylvia's 
cheeks.  "Now,  now  Sylvie,"  she  cried,  delighted  with  her 
discovery.  "Remember  the  grey  car!" 

"Oh,  hang  the  grey  car !"  cried  Sylvia  with  unusual  ve- 
hemence. 

The  Golden  Wedding  day  passed  off  gloriously.  There 
was  a  great  wedding  breakfast  for  the  family  at  noon ;  with 
a  wonderful  array  of  dazzling  presents  piled  on  the  table. 
In  the  afternoon,  all  the  old  friends  from  the  surrounding 
country  came  to  bring  the  aged  bride  and  groom  their 
good  wishes. 

Most  of  the  old  farm  neighbours  were  retired  and  lived 


218  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

in  Algonquin;  and  all  day  a  stream  of  cars  and  buggies 
came  down  the  road  and  up  the  long  lane  between  the 
poplars.  Janet  could  not  be  coaxed  away  from  the  road, 
for  this  was  the  day  Mr.  Balfour  was  to  come;  and  she 
swung  on  the  gate,  and  watched  for  him  from  the  moment 
breakfast  was  over.  Janet  had,  from  the  first  moment, 
established  herself  the  leader  of  the  younger  set;  so  they 
all  moved  down  to  the  gate,  too ;  and  the  girls  played  Hop 
Scotch  and  the  boys  played  ball  in  the  road.  At  last 
Janet's  watching  faithfulness  was  rewarded.  The  familiar 
little  muddy  car  came  rattling  down  the  road;  and  she 
threw  open  the  gate,  swinging  out  on  it,  and  screaming  rap- 
turous words  of  welcome.  She  stood  dancing  wildly  on 
one  foot  as  he  drove  through,  and  when  he  stopped  the  car, 
she  fairly  clambered  in  on  top  of  him. 

"Oh,  oh,  Mr.  Balfour !"  she  cried.  "I  was  just  dying  for 
you  to  come !  Oh,  I've  been  waiting  for  you  for  years  and 
years !  And  we're  having  the  loveliest  time  in  all  the  world ! 
And  there's  nine  little  pigs,  and  one  of  them's  speckled! 
And  there's  a  new  lamb  nearly  every  morning!  And  this 
is  Dorothy  and  Barbara  and  Mary  and  Bobby  and  Arthur. 
Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come !  I  think  I  love 
you  more  than  ever !" 

He  was  delighted  over  the  rapture  of  his  welcome.  "I 
was  afraid  you'd  forget  me,  with  all  the  lambs  and  calves 
and  boys  and  girls  that  are  here,"  he  said,  as  he  packed  them 
all  into  a  very  small  space  for  a  ride  to  the  house. 

"Oh,  I  love  you  more  than  all  the  farm  put  together.  I 
think  you're  far  nicer  than  the  pigs  even.  Oh,  Mr.  Balfour, 
Solomon  drinks  milk  right  out  of  the  cow  without  waiting 
for  a  saucer!" 

He  had  not  time  to  give  this  wonderful  fact  its  due  con- 
sideration; for  he  had  reached  the  veranda  and  there  was 
the  family  out  to  meet  him,  Old  Watty  at  the  head,  and 
beside  him  that  for  which  he  was  looking:  Sylvia's  ruddy- 
brown  hair,  radiant  in  the  sunlight.  And  at  the  sight  the 
shadow  that  had  fallen  over  her  perfection  melted  away. 
She  was  standing  on  the  steps,  holding  old  Uncle  Watty's 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  219 

hand.  It  was  impossible  to  believe  she  could  have  been 
unkind  to  the  old  man.  Hugh  Balfour's  youthful  heart  as- 
sured him  she  was  as  lovely  as  she  appeared. 

Janet's  days  at  the  castle  had  been  all  too  short,  and 
this  last  one  flew  on  swift  golden  wings.  Every  place  had 
to  have  a  farewell  visit,  every  creature  a  farewell  ceremony. 

When  Solomon  had  drunk  his  evening  draught  in  the 
same  wonderful  fashion,  and  the  little  chickens  and  kittens 
and  pigs  had  all  been  tucked  into  their  beds,  Janet  and 
the  other  children  ran  out  to  the  little  pasture  behind  the 
barn,  to  view  the  evening  dance  of  the  lambs. 

They  all  perched  on  the  fence,  Janet  upon  the  very 
highest  point,  and  watched  the  pretty  procession  come  in 
from  the  fields.  The  music  of  their  voices  was  very  sweet 
in  the  soft,  spring,  evening  air ;  deep  contralto  mother- 
voices,  high  childish  treble  notes,  and  an  occasional  shrill 
soprano,  from  the  latest  little  lamb  flower  that  had  bloomed 
in  the  meadow.  Away  down  by  the  creek  a  delicate  green 
flush  told  that  the  pussies  were  out.  The  grass  was  green 
in  the  wet  hollows,  and  the  robins  were  making  music  in 
the  budding  maples.  As  Janet  looked  across  the  field,  she 
saw  a  shepherd  and  shepherdess,  as  happy  as  any  of  the 
Golden  Age,  come  straying  up  from  the  feathery  greenness 
of  the  creek  bank.  One  was  tall  and  straight,  a  figure  Janet 
would  know  at  any  distance ;  and  the  other  one's  uncovered 
head  caught  the  level  rays  of  the  sun  and  shone  like  gold. 

"That's  Cousin  Sylvia  and  your  Mr.  Balfour,"  said  little 
Barbara  from  Toronto,  who  was  a  very  wise,  old,  sophisti- 
cated person  of  twelve.  "Mother  says  that  Cousin  Lena  is 
in  love  with  Mr.  Balfour;  is  she,  Janet?" 

Janet  was  not  quite  sure;  but  she  thought  likely  she 
was.  Everybody  who  went  to  Knox  Church  was  in  love 
with  Mr.  Balfour,  she  explained,  except,  perhaps,  old  Mr. 
Gibbie  Gibson,  who  didn't  like  what  he  said  sometimes  in 
his  sermons.  But  everyone  else  loved  him  and  as  Miss 
Lena  was  a  teacher  in  the  Sunday  School,  she  was  likely 
in  love  with  him,  too. 

"But  I  don't  mean  that  kind  of  love,"  scoffed  the  sophis- 


220  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

ticated  one.  "I  mean  in  love  like  they  are  in  picture  shows 
when  people  get  married.  But  I  guess  he  likes  Cousin 
Sylvia  best,"  she  added,  regarding  the  pair  absorbedly. 
"Cousin  Sylvia  is  so  pretty,  isn't  she?" 

"Oh,  lovely,"  agreed  Janet  enthusiastically.  "Is  she  in 
love  with  Mr.  Balfour,  too?"  she  asked,  very  much  inter- 
ested. 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  heard  Mother  and  Aunt  Mary 
talking  about  it ;  and  they  said  Sylvia  wouldn't  marry  him 
if  he's  going  to  be  a  missionary.  And  Aunt  Kitty  says 
Sylvia  would  never  do  for  a  minister's  wife." 

"Why?"  asked  Janet.  "Couldn't  she  be  president  of 
things?  My  mother's  a  minister's  wife,"  she  added,  as 
though  just  making  the  discovery. 

There  was  no  time  to  discuss  further  the  qualifications 
necessary  for  a  minister's  wife,  for  at  that  moment  the 
pretty,  white,  woolly  procession  came  through  the  gap  in 
the  fence,  and  started  across  the  meadow  to  the  barn.  Just 
as  the  flock  pushed  through  the  bars,  suddenly,  as  if  one 
naughty  larnb  had  said  to  his  fellows,  "Hurrah,  let's  all  run 
away  from  mother,"  with  one  consent  they  all  leaped  for- 
ward and  raced  across  the  field,  and  up  to  the  top  of  a 
little  slope,  as  fast  as  their  crazy  little  legs  would  carry 
them.  And  then,  as  suddenly,  they  whirled  about  and  came 
tearing  back,  as  though  a  pack  of  wolves  were  at  their  flying 
heels.  The  moment  they  reached  their  mother's  side,  they 
changed  their  mad  little  minds  again;  and  off  they  flew 
once  more  in  still  more  frantic  haste.  The  second  race  was 
madder  than  the  first.  They  seemed  to  run  over  patches 
of  ground  charged  with  electricity,  and  up  would  go  a 
dozen  little  woolly  bodies  high  into  the  air;  others  would 
leap  from  side  to  side  as  if  in  convulsions;  and  all  went 
through  the  most  extraordinary  capers.  Away  ahead  of 
the  others,  two,  fleeter-footed  than  their  companions,  were 
running  a  neck-and-neck  race,  as  though  a  fortune  had  been 
placed  upon  the  winner.  But  just  when  anxiety  as  to  who 
should  reach  the  goal  first  was  at  white  heat,  they  both 
stopped  dead,  whirled,  faced  each  other,  and  footed  as 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  221 

pretty  a  dance  as  though  they  had  just  come  out  of  a 
young  lady's  school! 

The  children  on  the  fence  laughed  till  they  cried;  Janet 
hung  on  to  the  rail  and  screamed  with  delight;  and  even 
the  jaded  old  person  of  twelve  gazed  at  the  sight  in  wonder 
and  admiration. 

The  antics  were  growing  less  extravagant,  when  the 
shepherd  and  shepherdess  strolled  up.  A  little  hawthorn 
tree  and  some  raspberry  bushes  grew  beside  the  fence  where 
the  children  were  sitting ;  and  the  two  strollers  seated  them- 
selves upon  the  stones  beneath  and  talked  in  low  tones. 
When  Janet  crawled  along  the  top  of  the  fence  to  be  near 
Mr.  Balfour,  she  found  he  had  left.  He  had  been  claimed 
by  the  young  divinity  student,  whom  he  had  known  at  col- 
lege; and  was  walking  with  him  slowly  down  the  lane. 
Bessie  was  sitting  in  his  place,  the  calves'  empty  pails  at 
her  feet. 

"Goodness,  I'm  tired,"  she  was  saying,  shoving  away  the 
pails  distastefully.  "I  saw  you,  Miss  Sylvie,"  she  teased, 
"strolling  away  in  the  bush.  If  you  don't  mean  business 
you'd  better  stop  right  now,  or  Lena'll  be  after  you." 

"Hush!"  whispered  Sylvia,  glancing  up  to  where  Janet 
was  perched  just  behind  them. 

"She  doesn't  know  what  we're  talking  about,"  answered 
Bessie  easily.  "But  you  oughtn't  to  do  it,  Sylvie,"  she  added 
seriously,  for  in  spite  of  many  faults,  Bessie  Sinclair  had 
a  sense  of  duty.  "You're  just  as  good  as  engaged  to  George 
Hilton." 

Sylvia  leaned  forward  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees. 
She.  clasped  her  white  hands,  and  placing  her  pretty  chin 
upon  them,  gazed  gloomily  down  the  lane  where  Hugh  Bal- 
four and  her  cousin  were  strolling  in  deep  conversation. 
"Engagements  have  been  broken  before,"  she  remarked  sig- 
nificantly. 

"Sylvie !"  Bessie  was  alarmed.  She  was  intensely  proud 
of  her  cousin  and  anxious  that  she  should  bring  glory  upon 
the  family. 


222  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Sylvie!  Mr.  Hilton's  rich  and, — why,  you'd  be  crazy! 
And  he  thinks  the  world  and  all  of  you." 

Sylvia  made  no  reply;  her  eyes,  generally  so  bright  and 
dancing,  were  dark  and  sombre. 

"And  that  man's  going  to  be  a  missionary.  Janet  says 
so,"  Bessie  continued,  feeling  she  had  said  the  final  word 
that  would  render  Hugh  Balfour  utterly  ineligible. 

Sylvia  suddenly  stood  up,  her  eyes  shining  again.  "That's 
another  kind  of  engagement  that  can  be  broken,"  she  cried 
gaily.  "If  I  can  make  him  get  over  that  notion,  I'll — oh, 
little  pitchers !" 

Janet  had  turned  and  was  looking  down  at  them.  She 
had  been  listening  to  the  wise  old  lady  of  twelve  describe 
a  school  concert  in  which  she  had  played  the  leading  role  in 
"Cinderella,"  listening  with  one  ear;  but  with  the  other 
she  had  heard  every  word  of  the  low-toned  conversation 
beneath  her.  She  had  heard  it  quite  unconsciously;  but 
had  registered  every  syllable  on  her  unfailing  memory.  But 
just  now  she  had  no  interest  in  either  it  or  Cinderella. 

"Oh,  Miss  Sylvia,  oh,  Bessie!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  you're 
missing  all  the  fun.  The  lambs  are  dancing  the  Highland 
fling!" 

It  seemed  almost  the  next  moment,  to  Janet,  that  she 
was  seated  beside  Mr.  Balfour  ready  for  the  homeward 
journey.  Tom's  Woman  had  filled  the  little  car  with  flowers 
and  fruit  and  roast  chicken  and  candy  and  cake  left  from 
the  wedding  feast.  The  children  hung  on  to  Janet,  prom- 
ising undying  friendship  and  unlimited  correspondence: 
the  women  kissed  her  again  and  again;  and  Uncle  Watty 
held  her  hand  and  patted  it  until  the  car  had  started,  wink- 
ing the  moisture  from  his  fierce  old  eyes.  She  did  not  long 
enjoy  the  ride  home  in  the  lovely  warm  spring  twilight. 
Even  the  joy  of  knowing  that  Mother  had  come  home  and 
would  be  there  to  meet  her  could  not  keep  her  eyelids 
from  drooping.  And  then  as  Mr.  Balfour  was  unusually 
quiet  and  preoccupied,  her  head  fell  over  against  his  arm; 
and  she  knew  nothing  more  until  Kirsty  was  carrying  her 
indoors  and  uttering  endearing  words  that  Janet  had  not 


ON  A  SINGING  TOUR  223 

heard  from  Kirsty  since  she  was  ill  with  the  scarlet  fever 
three  years  ago.  And  she  could  scarcely  waken  even  when 
she  was  caught  up  in  her  mother's  welcoming  arms,  and 
Pepper  leaped  up  to  lick  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JACK-IN-THE- PULPIT 

IT  was  Saturday  afternoon  and  once  more  Janet  had 
escaped  the  toils  of  the  unhemmed  towel.  This  was  the 
third  Saturday  she  had  gone  visiting  with  Mr.  Balfour  in 
the  little  car,  and  it  was  surely  the  best.  For  this  was  the 
first  May  Saturday,  and  the  long  winding  white  road  that 
stretched  ahead  of  them  was  lined  with  cherry  blossoms 
and  white  hawthorn,  and  the  pink  glory  of  the  wild  apple 
trees.  The  bluebird  called  sweetly  from  the  fence  tops  as 
they  spun  past,  the  little  pine  warbler  trilled  out  his  noisy 
song  from  the  cedars;  and  in  the  green  fields  bobolink, 
robin,  meadow-lark  and  thrush  vied  with  each  other  in  see- 
ing who  could  make  the  most  music. 

Each  hill  the  travellers  climbed, — and  they  were  either 
climbing  a  hill  or  sailing  merrily  down  one, — displayed  a 
new  view,  lovelier  than  the  last. 

Whenever  they  passed  along  a  lonely  part  of  the  road 
Janet  began  to  sing,  not  in  her  heart,  but  audibly.  These 
drives  with  Mr.  Balfour  were  made  doubly  charming  be- 
cause he  so  often  allowed  her  to  put  aside  her  silent  singing 
and  become  vocal.  Indeed,  he  encouraged  and  helped  her 
by  suggesting  all  sorts  of  funny  things  to  sing.  There  was 
the  delightful  rhyme  about  a  donkey. 

"Sweetly  sings  the  donkey 
As  he  goes  to  hay, 
If  you  don't  go  with  him 
He  will  run  away. 
224 


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT  225 

"Heigh  a-ho-ah, 
Don't  you  hear  him  say, 
'Heigh,  a-ho,  a-heigh,  a-ho,  a-hay!'" 

Mr.  Balfour  explained  that  the  secret  of  singing  this  song 
correctly  was  to  imitate  a  donkey  as  well  as  possible;  and 
its  chief  advantage  was  that  ;t  had  no  tune. 

Janet  thought  that  a  song  with  no  tune  was  the  finest 
thing  she  had  ever  discovered,  until  Mr.  Balfour  invented 
something  even  better.  It  was  a  funny  ditty  that  sent 
her  into  screams  of  laughter.  It  had  plenty  of  rhyme,  he 
explained,  but  no  reason  at  all,  and  went  something  like — 

"Hibbeldy,  Hobbeldy,  Hammerdy  Hay 
Ockerty,  Pockerty,  Lickity,  Lay," 

and  a  great  deal  more  quite  as  delightful  and  unintelligible. 

Janet  liked  it  the  best  of  all ;  for,  as  she  explained,  while 
a  song  without  a  tune  was  something  very  convenient,  a 
song  without  either  words  or  tune  left  nothing  to  be  de- 
sired on  the  part  of  the  singer;  and  as  they  spun  along 
they  made  the  woods  ring  with  its  discord.  When  they 
came  near  habitations  they  became  well  behaved  and  told 
riddles.  Janet  had  just  got  a  new  book  of  riddles;  and 
there  was  one  in  it  that  Bud  had  warned  her  to  lay  before 
Mr.  Balfour.  "Why  is  a  dog's  tail  like  the  heart  of  a 
tree?"  But  Janet's  mind  was  on  the  answer  and  in  her 
unconscious  frankness  she  blundered, — 

"Why  is  a  dog's  tail  like  the  bark  of  a  tree?"  and  gave 
the  answer  away. 

It  was  altogether  a  delightful  drive,  and  they  had  a 
pleasant  visit  at  old  Jabez  Gibson's,  where  there  were  new 
chickens  and  lambs  almost  as  wonderful  as  at  the  Castle. 

But  coming  home,  Mr.  Balfour  was  much  quieter;  he 
seemed  to  be  in  a  deep  study,  and  Janet  tried  to  talk  as 
little  as  possible,  fearing  he  might  be  thinking  over  to- 
morrow's sermon. 

But  he  was  not  thinking  of  the  morrow's  sermon,  he  was 
meditating  sadly  upon  the  apparently  slight  effect  all  his 


226  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

sermons  had  had  upon  the  man  he  had  just  left.  Jabez 
Gibson  was  rich  and  hard  and  selfish;  and  yet  he  was  a 
member  of  the  church  and  exceedingly  self-righteous.  The 
young  minister  was  asking  himself  what  he  had  done  for 
this  man.  Mr.  Meldrum  would  return  probably  before  the 
end  of  the  summer;  and  his  year  in  Knox  Church  would  be 
over ;  and  what  signs  of  a  better  life  in  the  community  could 
he  see  as  the  reward  of  his  labours  ? 

There  were  many  Jabez  Gibsons  in  the  congregation,  and 
their  lives  were  sordid  and  unlovely.  To  many,  Sunday  was 
merely  a  day  to  stay  at  home  and  sleep  after  a  hard  week's 
money-making;  or  to  take  the  car  and  go  visiting.  He 
doubted  if  he  had  been  successful  in  even  stirring  up  any 
community  spirit  among  the  young  people  of  Cherry  Hill. 
The  town  was  so  near,  and  all  their  thoughts  turned  thither. 
The  discouraged  young  minister  wondered  if  he  were  wast- 
ing his  strength  in  a  thankless  and  useless  task.  And  if 
his  efforts  met  with  such  poor  returns  in  Christian  Canada, 
how  utterly  impossible  would  be  the  work  he  had  set  his 
face  towards  in  a  heathen  land  ?  Hugh  Balfour  was  riding 
along  the  hilltops  on  a  lovely  May  day,  but  his  soul  was 
down  in  the  valley,  and  a  bleak  November  wind  was  sweep- 
ing over  it. 

The  car  had  been  noisily  climbing  a  long  winding  hill. 
A  clear  little  brook  went  singing  down  its  side  among  tiny 
ferns  and  musk  and  vivid  green  moss.  On  either  hand  the 
green  tangle  of  the  swamp  came  close  to  the  road  and  the 
air  was  filled  with  the  cool  sweet  fragrance  of  cedar  and 
tamarack  and  spruce.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  he  stopped  the 
smoking  little  car.  To  the  left  an  open  grassy  space  was 
hedged  in  by  a  wild  tangle  of  underbrush,  now  a  perfect 
riot  of  trilliums,  red  and  white. 

"Oh,  oh,"  cried  Janet,  rapturous  over  its  beauty.  "That's 
the  big  berry  patch,  Mr.  Balfour.  Everybody  comes  up  here 
when  the  blackberries  are  ripe.  But  Mother's  never  let  me 
go  yet.  If  you  go  picking  berries  this  summer,  will  you  take 
me?" 

He  promised,  all  unthinking,  his  eyes  turned  away  to 


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT  227 

the  valley  that  lay  at  his  feet.  "Look,  Janet,"  he  said,  "do 
you  know  what  place  that  is  ?" 

Far  away  down  there,  and  yet  so  near,  it  seemed  to 
Janet  that  she  could  put  out  her  hand  and  pick  up  the 
little  church  that  nestled  in  the  feathery  green,  stood  Cherry 
Hill.  They  could  follow  the  flash  of  the  "Crick"  as  it  went 
wandering  here  and  there,  away  and  away  Down  Below, 
until  they  lost  it  in  the  belt  of  the  dark  green  swamp.  As 
far  away  in  the  opposite  direction  lay  the  clear  blue  floor 
of  Lake  Simcoe,  miles  and  miles  of  it.  Mr.  Balfour  pointed 
out  a  tiny,  red,  brick  house  and  a  toy  barn,  and  a  silo  like 
a  thin  piece  of  lead  pencil  beside  it,  and  Janet  was  aston- 
ished and  enraptured  to  know  that  it  was  Grandpa  Sinclair's. 
She  strained  her  eyes  in  the  hope  that  she  might  discern 
Mr.  Watty;  and  Mr.  Balfour  stood  and  looked  as  if  he, 
too,  were  trying  to  see  someone. 

The  little  fields  were  of  every  conceivable  shade  of  green, 
and  no  two  were  alike.  The  woods  were  still  another 
green ;  and  the  ploughed  fields  were  all  colours,  even  purple 
and  pink,  and  indeed  every  colour  but  brown,  as  Mr.  Bal- 
four pointed  out.  And  as  they  sat  there,  he  said  softly,  "O 
Lord,  how  manifold  are  Thy  works,  in  wisdom  hast  Thou 
made  them  all."  Janet  sat  perfectly  still,  feeling  as  though 
she  were  in  church  and  prayers  were  being  offered.  And 
after  a  silence  he  repeated  something  else  that  Jane  loved ; 
but  which  was  not  so  familiar  to  her  as  the  words  of  Scrip- 
ture. 

"Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her ;  'tis  her  privilege, 
Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy;  for  she  can  so  inform 
The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 
With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 
With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues, 
Rash  judgments  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 
Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 
The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life, 
Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 
Our  cheerful  faith  that  all  which  we  behold 
Is  full  of  blessing." 


228  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Janet  had  not  moved  during  its  recital ;  and  Hugh  Balf our 
looked  at  her  wonderingly.  She  always  surprised  him  with 
her  love  for  poetry.  Even  when  her  childish  mind  did 
not  at  all  comprehend  the  meaning,  she  would  sit,  listening 
intently,  while  he  read ;  held,  apparently,  by  vague  glimpses 
of  its  beauty. 

And  then  he  got  out  and  cranked  the  little  car ;  and  away 
they  spun  down  the  hill,  the  glorious  view  vanishing  and 
reappearing  again  and  again  as  they  shot  past  openings  in 
the  forest.  But  the  vision  on  the  hill-top  had  not  dispelled 
the  doubts  and  misgivings.  He  had  been  climbing  his  Hill 
Difficult  and  like  Christian  he  was  descending  all  unknow- 
ing to  meet  his  soul's  enemies,  Timorous  and  Mistrust. 

When  they  had  reached  the  level  floor  of  the  valley  and 
were  within  a  few  miles  of  the  village,  they  passed  Henry 
Gibson's  grove.  Janet  peeped  longingly  into  its  flowery 
depths.  Henry  Gibson's  grove  was  one  of  the  picture  spots 
of  this  picture  region,  and  every  twenty-fourth  of  May 
Knox  Church  held  a  picnic  under  its  green  shade. 

The  little  stream,  that  ran  through  the  village  and  grew 
into  a  river  Down  Below,  passed  through  the  grove  slowly, 
and  lingered  in  a  lovely  little  pond  framed  in  golden-hearted 
water  lilies,  and  blue-flowered  arrow-head,  and  a  white 
pillared  birch  grove.  Henry  Gibson's  wife,  who  had  been 
president  of  the  Ladies'  Aid  in  Knox  Church  ever  since 
anyone  could  remember,  made  Henry  keep  the  cattle  fenced 
off  from  the  Grove,  so  that  it  was  clean  and  untouched ;  and 
the  flowers  grew  there  in  such  abundance  that  the  man  who 
taught  botany  in  the  Algonquin  High  School  always  made 
a  trip  out  to  it  in  June  with  some  of  his  pupils.  And  such 
another  spot  he  would  scarcely  find  in  Old  Ontario.  Had 
they  time  to  go  in,  Janet  asked  coaxingly,  just  a  weenty, 
teenty  bit  of  a  minute?  And  perhaps  they  could  get  some 
flowers  for  the  church,  and  a  bouquet  for  old  Mrs.  Kennedy. 
Perhaps  some  trilliums  would  make  her  sing  in  her  heart 
to  the  Lord. 

He  could  not  resist  an  appeal  like  this,  so  they  scrambled 
out  of  the  car  and  climbed  the  fence.  They  picked  their 


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT  229 

way  along  the  side  of  the  field,  taking  care  not  to  step  on 
the  new  fall  wheat,  which  carpeted  the  earth  with  vivid 
green.  Over  another  fence,  and  they  were  in  the  grove, 
and  knee-deep  in  ferns  and  trilliums  and  wake-robins  and 
wild  geraniums;  and  treading  upon  a  soft  carpet  of  moss, 
starred  with  violets,  purple,  and  gold,  and  white.  Every 
blossom  of  early  summer  seemed  to  be  here,  from  the  white 
purity  of  the  anemone  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  to  the  pink 
and  gold  ladies'  slippers  beside  the  stream.  Away  in  the 
centre,  still  and  aloof,  guarded  by  its  ring  of  blossoms,  and 
canopied  by  its  white-pillared  birches,  lay  the  opal  mirror 
of  the  little  pond. 

The  veeries  were  ringing  their  silver  bells  in  the  tree-tops ; 
the  mocking-bird  was  fairly  spilling  out  melody  from  a 
bass-wood  clump;  the  white-throat  called  down  the  golden 
aisles,  "I-love-Canada  !  Canada !  Canada" ;  and  across  the 
still  surface  of  the  pond  came  the  longing,  enticing,  gentle 
"Dear-eee"  of  the  wood  pee- wee. 

When  they  stepped  into  the  green  sanctuary,  Janet  whis- 
pered, as  though  she  were  entering  the  church.  But  as 
each  new  glory  of  blossoms  broke  upon  her  sight,  she 
grew  noisy  with  delight ;  and  ran  about  like  a  wood  nymph 
that  had  been  imprisoned  and  just  set  at  liberty. 

She  was  so  intoxicated  with  her  sudden  wealth  that  she 
wanted  to  gather  everything  in  the  grove.  But  when  she 
had  an  armful  for  Mother,  and  another  for  Nellie's  mother, 
and  one  for  old  Mrs.  Kennedy,  and  one  for  Mrs.  Murphy, 
and  one  for  the  Kellys,  and  the  biggest  of  all  for  the  church, 
and  she  still  wanted  to  go  on  and  gather  more,  her  com- 
panion thought  it  was  time  to  stop.  She  couldn't  possibly 
take  them  all,  he  explained,  and  everyone  in  Cherry  Hill 
had  a  garden.  She  was  stooping  to  gather  a  long  mauve 
plume  of  wild  phlox,  which  she  couldn't  possibly  resist, 
when  the  sound  of  far,  soft  voices  made  her  raise  her 
head  enquiringly.  "I  hear  somebody,"  she  whispered. 

She  stood  up,  and  looking  down  the  sunlit  path  that  led 
from  the  fields,  gave  an  exclamation  of  joy.  "Oh,  oh,  Mr. 
Balfour,  there's  Miss  Lena,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad ! 


230  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Isn't  it  wonderful  how  we  meet  her  so  often  on  Saturdays?" 
she  went  on  happily. 

The  young  man  was  forced  to  agree  with  her.  It  really 
was  quite  wonderful  and  not  a  little  embarrassing.  Hugh 
Balfour  was  shy  and  retiring,  and  had  the  most  modest 
opinion  of  his  own  attractions ;  and  yet  he  would  have  been 
both  blind  and  deaf  if  he  had  not  noticed  that  Miss  Lena 
Sinclair  was,  by  some  strange  combination  of  accidents, 
always  appearing  on  the  scene,  no  matter  where  he  went ; 
and  that  her  chief  assistant  in  the  matter  of  producing 
accidents  was  Mrs.  Meldrum.  This  was  the  third  Saturday 
that  he  and  Janet  had  encountered  her  on  their  return  to 
the  village;  and  he  felt  that  if  the  little  girl  had  not  been 
with  him,  he  would  have  taken  to  his  heels  and  run. 

But  the  next  moment  he  changed  his  mind  completely. 
Janet  gave  another  exclamation  of  joy.  "Oh,  oh,  look,  who's 
with  her!"  He  looked,  and  there,  down  the  green  and 
golden  aisle  of  the  woods,  the  filtered  sunlight  dancing  on 
her  lovely  uncovered  head,  came  Sylvia  Ward ;  and  the  un- 
reasonable young  man's  feeling  of  resentment  against  the 
young  woman  who  preceded  her  was  suddenly  changed  to 
one  of  the  warmest  gratitude. 

He  stood  quite  still,  overcome  with  the  joy  of  her  sudden 
appearance,  and  Janet  flew  to  meet  them. 

"We  are  on  our  way  up  from  Grandpa  Sinclair's,"  Miss 
Lena  explained,  "and  Sam  had  to  see  Henry  Gibson,  so 
we  came  in  for  flowers." 

Hugh  Balfour  was  but  dimly  conscious  of  what  she  said. 
The  glad  surprise  of  Sylvia's  sudden  appearance  took  away 
his  breath.  Janet  caught  Miss  Lena's  hand  and  dragged 
her  away  down  the  path  toward  the  pond,  to  show  her 
where  the  pitcher  plants  grew.  The  other  two  sat  down  on 
a  mossy  log. 

"You  ought  to  warn  people !"  he  cried  gaily.  "It's  over- 
powering when  spring  descends  suddenly  in  the  middle  of 
winter !" 

She  seemed  almost  as  happy  as  he.  "I  hadn't  any  warn- 
ing myself.  Grandmother  wasn't  well;  and  Bessie  wrote 


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT  231 

me  I  ought  to  come.     So  Alice  and  I  motored  out  from 
Algonquin  last  night." 

As  he  helped  her  gather  the  delicate  lavender  plumes  of 
the  phlox,  she  told  him  some  wonderful  news.  Uncle  and 
Aunt  Ward,  with  whom  she  lived,  were  going  away  for 
the  summer;  and  she  was  coming  to  her  Grandmother's 
for  part  of  the  time,  and  to  Cherry  Hill  for  the  remainder. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  rejoicing  over  this  good 
fortune,  for  soon  Janet  and  Lena  returned;  and  they  all 
sat  down  on  the  mossy  log  again,  to  arrange  their  glorious 
harvest.  Janet  handed  Mr.  Balfour  a  little  Jack-in-the- 
pulpit  for  a  buttonhole  bouquet,  saying  it  was  his  special 
flower.  "I  can  say  a  recitation  about  it,"  she  remarked,  "the 
one  I  said  in  school  the  time  Aggie  Wright's  buttons  flew 
away  and  Molly  got  the  prize.  Would  you  like  me  to  speak 
it?"  Everybody  was  delighted;  and  the  three  grown  folk 
arranged  themselves  on  the  log,  while  Janet  mounted  a  big 
mossy  stone  for  the  platform.  The  first  bow  was  so  low 
she  lost  her  balance,  and  came  scrambling  down  almost  on 
top  of  the  audience.  But  the  second  attempt,  being  less 
elaborate,  was  more  successful.  Then  she  recited  the  pretty 
verses,  racing  through  them,  as  was  her  way,  till  she  was 
out  of  breath. 

"Jack-in-the-pulpit  preaches  to-day, 
Under  the  green  trees  just  over  the  way. 
Squirrel  and  song  sparrow, 
•High  on  their  perch, 
Hear  the  sweet  lily-bells 
Ringing  for  church." 

It  was  a  great  success;  and  when  it  was  finished  the 
audience  applauded  till  the  sound  of  handclapping  came 
echoing  back  across  the  little  golden-green  pond.  Mr.  Bal- 
four held  up  the  dainty  little  canopy,  standing  on  its  long, 
green  pedestal.  "Pencilled  by  Nature's  hand  black,  brown 
and  green."  .  jt 

"He's  got  such  an  agreeable  sort  of  congregation,  he 
said.  "No  wonder  he  can  preach." 


232  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"But  think  what  a  comfortable  sort  of  preacher  the  con- 
gregation has,"  said  Sylvia  Ward. 

"We  heard  the  wind-organ,  the  bee  and  the  bird, 
But  from  Jack-in-the-pulpit  we  heard  not  a  word." 

"So  that's  the  sort  of  sermon  you  like,  is  it?"  cried  the 
young  minister  with  a  great  show  of  indignation. 

Lena  Sinclair  smiled  deprecatingly ;  but  Sylvia  took 
another  dainty  spathe,  and  holding  it  up,  addressed  the 
little  green-robed  priest,  solemnly. 

"Preacher  Jack,"  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  at  him, 
"you're  the  wisest  clergyman  it  was  ever  my  luck  to  meet ; 
and  your  congregation  is  blessed  above  all  other  peoples. 
And  the  reason  the  birds  and  the  flowers  and  the  squirrels 
in  this  grove  are  so  beautiful  and  so  happy  is  because  you 
are  not  everlastingly  telling  them  their  duty." 

She  paused,  and  Hugh  Balfour  took  up  the  parable.  "But 
what  about  the  crows,  Preacher  Jack,  that  have  been  peck- 
ing at  the  little  song-birds  all  summer?  And  the  weasels 
in  the  holes,  that  eat  up  the  little  field-mice,  and 

"Leave  the  poor  things  alone,  Preacher  Jack!"  inter- 
rupted Sylvia  Ward.  "They  all  have  their  place  in  the 
scheme  of  this  grove.  And  why  should  you  go  fussing  after 
black  crows?  You  won't  make  them  any  whiter  for  all 
your  trouble.  They  were  intended  to  be  black.  So  just 
stay  where  you  are,  and  adorn  your  pretty  pulpit,  and  be 
happy,  and  make  everybody  else  so." 

"For  remember,  Preacher  Jack,"  put  in  the  young  min- 
ister, "that  the  whole  aim  and  object  in  life  is  to  be  agree- 
able and  look  pleasant  in  a  pretty  pulpit." 

There  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  voice.  Her  words 
had  jarred  on  him.  He  held  his  calling  as  a  sacred  trust : 
the  highest  task  to  which  a  man  could  be  summoned.  It 
hurt  him  that  she  could  speak  lightly  of  it. 

Janet  came  in  with  a  welcome  interruption. 

"I  think  this  place  is  just  like  a  church,"  she  said  in  a 
hushed  tone,  "and  little  Jack-in-the-pulpit  is  the  preacher." 


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT  233 

"And  he's  got  such  a  lovely  choir  and  organ,"  added  Miss 
Lena,  who  had  not  quite  followed  Sylvia's  parable,  but  felt 
there  was  something  wrong.  "Green  fingers  playing  unseen 
on  wind-lyres.  Low-singing  bird  voices.  These  are  his 
choirs." 

"I  hear  them  now,"  whispered  Janet,  standing  motion- 
less, and  looking  up  into  the  far  tree-tops  where  the  sun 
flashed  on  a  little  chorister's  coat.  "Maybe  he's  the  choir 
leader,  like  Charlie  John  Gibson.  No,  no,  there  he  is !"  as 
a  clear  ringing  song  of  the  white-throat  came  through  the 
green  aisles. 

"That's  Charlie  John  singing  now !" 

"It  sounds  exactly  like  Charlie  John's  voice,"  said  Sylvia, 
her  eyes  dancing. 

"And  here's  the  Sunday  School,"  said  Lena.  "Here's  our 
class,  Janet ;  this  lovely  little  bunch  of  white  violets." 

"And  that's  you,  Miss  Lena,  teaching  us!"  cried  Janet, 
pointing  to  a  tall  graceful  trillium. 

"The  Ladies'  Aid  ought  to  be  here  somewhere,"  sug- 
gested Sylvia.  Janet  sprang  up  and  darted  here  and  there 
in  search  of  them. 

"Oh,  oh,  here  they  are !"  she  cried,  catching  Hugh  Bal- 
four's  hand  and  pulling  him  forward.  "Look !"  It  was  a 
big  spider,  spinning  a  silvery  web,  across  a  fairy  dell. 
"They're  quilting!"  cried  Janet,  dancing  around  it.  "That's 
the  quilt!"  She  skipped  away  down  the  flowery  aisles, 
finding  new  parallels  at  every  turn.  She  came  running 
back  to  them  with  the  information  that  she  had  found 
the  Elders :  those  .old  black  crows  who  were  cawing  away 
so  in  the  high  pines,  beyond  the  pond.  They  were  having 
a  session  meeting  right  now !  They  all  laughed  heartily  and 
apparently  Jack-in-the-pulpit  was  forgotten  for  the  time. 

A  loud  honk,  honk,  from  the  road  warned  the  girls  that 
Sam  had  gone  back  to  his  car,  and  was  waiting.  And  the 
four  gathered  up  their  flower  harvest,  and  came  out  of 
the  green  and  gold  shadows  into  the  sunlight.  Hugh  Bal- 
four  was  very  silent  when  the  big  car  had  started  off  and 


234  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

they  were  following  it  up  the  slope  to  the  village ;  and  Janet, 
busy  with  her  flowers,  did  not  interrupt  his  thoughts. 

"Don't  you  think  Miss  Lena  is  lovely,  Mr.  Balfour !"  she 
exclaimed  as  she  helped  him  put  away  the  car  in  its  little 
barn. 

"Yes,  she's  a  very  fine,  young,  Christian  woman,"  said 
Mr.  Balfour,  choosing  his  words  carefully,  in  fear  lest 
they  be  used  against  him  one  day  when  he  came  up  before 
the  bar  of  Janet's  frankness.  "A  very  fine  Christian  char- 
acter," he  amended  carefully. 

Janet  did  not  seem  satisfied.  "Yes,  but  she's  different 
from  other  Christian  women,  isn't  she?  I  just  love  Miss 
Sylvia;  and  I  think  she  sings,  oh,  just  like  the  mocking-bird 
down  in  the  grove !  But  I  think  Miss  Lena's  lovelier  inside, 
don't  you?  I  think  she  must  sing  sweeter  inside  her  than 
Miss  Sylvia.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"Just  look  at  those  tulips,  Janet !"  he  exclaimed  hurriedly. 
"Isn't  that  red  one  a  beauty.  And  here's  Blackie  coming 
to  meet  you." 

She  darted  towards  her  pet,  calling  out  endearing  names ; 
and  the  young  man  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  He  looked 
at  the  little  figure  dancing  along  ahead  of  him,  the  heavy 
black  cat  in  her  arms,  her  long  braid  swinging  from  side 
to  side. 

"She's  positively  uncanny,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  won- 
der if  she's  right?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  JARRING  NOTE 

A  S  the  day  for  the  picnic  approached,  Janet,  who  never 
•L  1.  gave  a  thought  to  her  own  costume,  except  to  hope 
that  it  would  be  an  old  one,  grew  more  and  more  anxious 
over  Molly's  new  pink  muslin.  And  every  day,  coming 
home  from  school,  if  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  village 
dressmaker,  she  would  call,  "Have  you  started  to  make 
Molly's  dress  yet,  Miss  Sarah?" 

And  always  Miss  Sarah  would  say  she  hadn't  finished 
young  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson's  blue  dress,  or  red  dress,  or 
white  dress;  but  she  would  soon  be  done. 

"But  you'll  do  Molly's  next,  won't  you,  Miss  Sarah?" 
Janet  asked  one  day,  early  in  May,  as  she  and  Rosie  and 
Nellie  leaned  over  the  fence.  Molly  had  left  school  at 
Easter ;  and  was  working  at  the  Sinclair's  all  the  time  now ; 
and  Janet  felt  it  her  duty  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  dressmaker! 

'I'm  going  to  start  it  to-morrow,"  Miss  Sarah  announced. 
I  got  to  get  it  out  o'  the  road,"  she  added  with  a  smile, 
"  'cause  Sylvia  Ward's  coming  to  Mrs.  Andy's  soon ;  an' 
she  sent  word  ahead  that  she  wants  me  to  make  her  some 
clothes.  And  her  with  all  them  town  dressmakers,  and 
all  the  fine  dresses  she  has !  She  always  says  to  me,  'Sarah 
Kennedy,'  says  she,  'there's  nobody  that  can  make  things 
over  the  way  you  can,'  says  she.  There's  nobody  puts  such 
stitching  in  it.'  Them's  just  the  words  she  said." 

"But  you'll  finish  Molly's  before  hers  come,  won't  you  ?" 
pleaded  Rosie;  and  once  again  Miss  Sarah  promised.  Of 
course  she  would  have  it  done,  she  assured  them;  there 
was  no  one  who  could  slap  a  dress  together  as  fast  as  she 
could,  when  she  once  got  at  it. 

235 


236  LITTLE  MIS^ME|X)D; 

But  in  spite  of  her  special  -  slalFand"  spffcl  the  very  eve 
of  the  twenty-fourth  of  May  arrived  and  Molly's  dress  had 
not  come  home.  But  it  was  certainly  to  be  finished  early 
on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-fourth,  Sarah  promised;  and 
Bud  might  come  over  for  it  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  bed; 
for  it  would  be  waiting  for  him. 

The  twenty-fourth  of  May  was  a  glorious  day.  The 
village,  and  indeed  the  whole  valley,  was  astir  at  dawn. 
Everyone  took  an  early  dinner  and  went  to  the  grove  im- 
mediately afterwards,  so  that  they  might  have  a  long  unin- 
terrupted afternoon  of  perfect  enjoyment,  and  still  be 
home  in  time  for  a  late  milking. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  young  men,  headed  by  Mr. 
Balfour,  went  down  to  the  grove  to  set  up  the  tables  and 
benches  and  make  a  platform  for  the  choir  and  speakers. 
Mrs.  Henry  Gibson  loaned  her  old  kitchen  stove,  and  Willie 
Gibson's  girls  their  organ;  and  both  were  hauled  over  on 
the  stone  boat.  The  old  stove  was  set  up  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream  with  two,  wash  boilers  ready  for  the  tea;  and 
the  green  aisles  of  the  woods  rang  to  the  sound  of  ham- 
mering and  the  merry  voices  of  the  workers. 

At  the  Manse  everything  was  in  the  stir  of  preparation, 
too,  for  even  Kirsty  went  to  the  picnic.  It  was  her  annual 
outing,  her  one  festivity ;  and  she  took  part  in  it  with  char- 
acteristic solemnity.  Kirsty  took  her  true  place  in  the  com- 
munity on  this  day;  for  she  always  made  the  picnic  tea. 
Whether  it  was  that  the  pressure  down  at  the  grove  was 
greater  than  up  on  Cherry  Hill,  no  one  knew ;  but  the  fact 
remained  that  no  one  but  Kirsty  McLeod  could  make  the 
tea  at  the  picnic  without  boiling  it. 

"It's  not  very  hard  to  sing  in  your  heart  to-day,  eh,  Jenny 
Melody?"  asked  Mr.  Balfour,  as  he  met  Janet  dancing 
through  the  hall  on  his  return  from  the  grove. 

"Oh !  I  don't  think  I'm  singing,"  she  cried.  "I'm  just 
screaming  inside  me!  Mother  says  I  may  go  over  and  see 
if  Molly's  dress  has  come  yet!"  she  gasped,  as  she  darted 
past  him. 

She  had  been  in  a  fever  of  impatience  all  morning  to  get 


A  JARRING  NOTE  237 

away  to  the  Kellys  and  see  if  the  wonderful  pink  muslin 
had  arrived;  for  Molly  was  not  coming  from  Miss  Lena's 
till  it  was  almost  time  to  go  to  the  picnic ;  and  had  cautioned 
Rosie  to  have  the  new  gown  laid  out  and  ready. 

Janet  ran  down  the  tulip  path  behind  the  house,  Pepper 
far  ahead,  barking  at  nothing  at  all,  just  from  sheer  joy. 
Through  the  blossoming  orchard  they  flew,  around  by  the 
little  dandelion-fringed  path  behind  the  church;  and  they 
were  at  the  Kellys'  back  door  panting  for  breath. 

The  first  glimpse  of  the  family  brought  fear  to  Janet's 
heart.  They  were  all  gathered  in  the  kitchen,  except  Tim 
and  his  father,  who  had  gone  down  to  the  grove  to  help. 
Across  the  backs  of  the  chairs  hung  the  family  wardrobe 
ready  for  the  picnic:  a  clean  blouse  and  tie  for  Tim,  and 
one  for  Bud,  Rosie's  new  blue  dress  that  Molly  had  bought, 
with  its  beautiful  ribbons,  Jimsey's  linen  suit,  freshly 
starched  and  ironed,  and  even  a  new  white  dress  for  Corny : 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  Molly's  pink  muslin ;  and  Rosie  and 
her  mother  were  almost  in  tears. 

"It  ain't  goin'  to  be  finished  after  all,  Jinny !"  cried  Rosie 
shrilly.  "Old  Sarah's  a  mean  sneak,  that's  what  she  is !" 

"Is  she  not  going  to  have  Molly's  dress  ready?"  cried 
Janet  in  dismayed  unbelief. 

"No,  that  she  isn't,"  wailed  Mrs.  Kelly.  "Sarah  was 
always  the  slow  one ;  no  wonder  she  never  got  a  man.  Sylvie 
Ward  came  up  to  Mrs.  Andy's  last  night;  and  she  brought 
two  dresses  for  Sarah  to  fix.  There's  one  for  the  picnic,  and 
another  one  she  wanted  for  the  evening.  Molly  says  that 
man  from  Algonquin,  that  has  the  big  car,  is  comin'  to  see 
her ;  and  nothing  but  that  dress'll  do  her,  and  my  girl  has  to 
go  without.  Poor  Molly !  And  it  was  herself  that  wouldn't 
get  a  rag  to  put  on  her  back,  till  we  was  all  dressed  up  like 
the  Prince  o'  Wales!"  and  Mrs.  Kelly  put  her  apron  to  her 
eyes. 

"Didn't  you  tell  her  Molly  hadn't  anything  else  to  wear, 
Bud?"  asked  Janet,  snatching  at  a  faint  hope. 

Bud  winked  desperately.  "Yes,  I  did;  an'  she  says  she 
can't  help  it.  I  don't  like  that  stuck-up  Sylvia  Ward;  and 


238  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

if  her  fellow  comes  to  the  picnic,  me  and  Tim's  goin'  to 
stick  tacks  in  his  tires,  so  we  are.  An'  Old  Sarah  pre- 
tendin'  she  hadn't  time  to  make  Molly's  dress!"  he  went 
on  in  righteous  indignation.  "Why,  it's  most  a  year  since 
we  took  it  to  her,  ain't  it,  Jinny  ?  and  I  wish  we'd  throwed 
Old  Mother  Murphy's  boilin'  soap  all  over  her,  that  day,  so 
I  do!" 

Just  then  the  gate  flew  open  and  Tim  came  storming  up 
the  little  path.  He  was  roaring  and  singing  and  brought 
a  new  atmosphere  to  the  desolate  house.  He  had  just  re- 
turned from  the  grove,  and  Sam  Sinclair  was  there  and 
he  had  said  that  Molly  would  go  to  the  picnic,  anyway. 
"Sam's  good  and  mad,"  declared  Tim  joyfully.  "An'  he 
told  Lena  that  they'd  got  to  get  Molly  ready,  somehow.  An' 
they're  goin'  to  doll  her  up  with  a  lot  o'  ribbons  an'  truck 
that  girls  wears." 

"Well,  half  a  loaf's  better  than  no  bread,"  said  Mrs. 
Kelly,  brightening  with  true  Irish  spirit.  Janet  could  not 
quite  appreciate  the  anguish  of  doing  without  a  new  dress 
even  when  you  had  expected  one;  so  she,  too,  brightened 
visibly  and  ran  home  somewhat  comforted. 

Her  own  dress  was  the  next  difficulty  she  encountered. 
It  was  spread  out  on  the  bed  ready  for  her  when  she 
returned.  It  was  a  new  white  one,  another  infliction  of 
Aunt  Flora's  which  had  been  blighting  Janet's  happiness 
ever  since  Mother  brought  it  home  at  Easter.  When  her 
mother  entered  the  room  to  see  if  Janet  were  getting  ready, 
she  found  her  standing  regarding  the  pretty  dress  as  a  con- 
demned criminal  might  look  at  the  hangman's  rope. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  she  groaned,  "if  I  have  to  take  care  of 
this  dress  all  day  I  won't  have  time  to  do  anything  else! 
Can't  I  wear  my  blue  gingham  ?  Molly  isn't  going  to  wear 
her  pink  muslin.  Did  you  know  that  Miss  Sarah  didn't 
finish  it  after  all?" 

But  her  mother  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  the  subject 
of  Janet's  own  dress. 

"Why,  child,   I'm  sure   I   should  think  you  would  be 


A  JARRING  NOTE  239 

ashamed  to  be  seen  by  the  whole  congregation  in  that  old 
dress.  It's  faded  and  mended  in  three  places." 

"But,  Mother,"  argued  Janet,  "I've  heard  you  say  ever 
so  often  that  it's  no  disgrace  to  have  a  mended  dress.  You 
said  it  was  a  torn  dress  a  person  ought  to  be  ashamed  of ; 
and  the  blue  gingham  is  mended  just  lovely." 

The  argument  was  long  and  exhausting,  but  the  white 
dress  prevailed;  and  early  in  the  afternoon  a  very  uncom- 
fortable little  girl  came  slowly  down  the  stairs  carefully 
holding  back  the  dainty  skirt  from  possible  contact  with 
Pepper,  who  was  trying  to  coax  her  into  a  frolic. 

But  when  Janet  arrived  at  the  picnic  grounds,  and  leaped 
out  of  Dr.  Gillespie's  car,  with  Nellie  beside  her,  the  bur- 
den of  her  white  dress  vanished. 

The  grove  was  alive  with  people,  and  ringing  with  the 
music  of  many  voices.  Away  back  by  the  pond  that 
gleamed  through  the  trees,  the  boys  and  men  were  laying 
out  a  course  for  the  races.  In  the  green  pasture  field  be- 
yond the  trees  the  football  club  from  Glenoro  were  running 
about  kicking  the  ball.  Janet  could  see  Bud  there,  follow- 
ing the  heroes  about  with  silent  adoration,  content  if  one 
of  the  great  men  would  so  much  as  let  him  hold  his  coat. 

Down  in  a  denser  part  of  the  grove  Gibson's  old  stove 
had  been  lit ;  and  the  smoke  was  curling  up  lazily  from  the 
pipe,  far  into  the  tree-tops.  The  shining  boilers  were  al- 
ready in  place;  and  Kirsty  was  there  in  her  whitest  apron 
to  see  that  no  one  dared  to  boil  the  tea.  The  platform  was 
erected,  benches  placed  before  it,  and  the  organ  mounted 
upon  it.  Martha  Beckett,  seated  on  a  block,  was  playing 
the  organ,  its  notes  sounding  like  a  feeble  mosquito  in  the 
great  gothic  arches  of  the  woods.  Charlie  John  Gibson  had 
gathered  a  few  of  his  choir  together  to  try  over  one  difficult 
selection  before  the  crowd  arrived ;  but,  just  as  they  struck 
the  opening  note,  their  voices  were  drowned  in  an  over- 
whelming flood  of  rival  music.  And  down  the  forest  path 
came  the  piper  who  always  played  the  opening  notes  of  the 
Cherry  Hill  picnic,  his  kilt,  his  sporran,  his  trim  buckled 


240  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

shoes,  his  bonnet  and  plume  and  his  pipe  ribbons,  all  aquiver 
to  the  lilting,  entrancing  tune  of  "Bonnie  Dundee." 

From  that  moment  Janet  Meldrum,  daughter  of  the 
Manse,  carefully  reared  on  psalm  tunes  and  the  catechism, 
went  off  at  the  heels  of  the  piper ;  and  neither  her  mother 
nor  her  minister  could  keep  her  within  sight  for  the  rest 
of  that  day. 

It  was  almost  tea  time  before  the  young  minister  could 
take  a  moment  from  his  many  duties  to  turn  his  footsteps 
in  the  direction  he  had  been  longing  to  take  all  afternoon. 
Just  as  soon  as  the  sports  in  the  pasture  field  were  finished, 
he  strolled  across  the  grove  in  company  with  Miss  Lena 
Sinclair,  who  had  somehow  been  at  his  elbow  all  day,  and 
joined  the  little  group  that  surrounded  Sylvia  Ward.  They 
found  them  in  the  little  green  nook  where  he  had  met  her 
a  few  days  before.  Sylvia  was  seated  on  a  moss-carpeted 
stone.  She  wore  the  pale  green  muslin  that  had  been  the 
price  of  Molly  Kelly's  new  dress ;  her  bronze  hair  was  un- 
covered, and  she  looked  like  a  beautiful  rose,  growing  up 
in  the  forest,  a  perfect  part  of  her  surroundings.  There 
were  several  young  people  with  her ;  the  Beckett  girls,  and 
the  Gillespie  girls,  and  young  Fred  Gillespie,  who  was 
home  from  college  for  the  summer,  assisting  in  his  father's 
office. 

Hugh  Balfour  flung  himself  down  in  the  fragrant  under- 
growth, and  drew  a  great  sigh  of  content.  There  was  a 
pleasant  clatter  of  dishes  from  the  long  white  tables  and 
fragrant  whiffs  of  tea  from  the  old  stove  from  which  the 
smoke  curled  lazily  into  the  tree-tops.  Far  away  down  the 
green  aisles  the  piper's  notes  rang  sweet  and  clear;  while 
over  at  the  edge  of  the  pasture  field  Henry  Gibson's  cattle 
could  be  seen  standing  pressed  against  the  fence,  enchanted 
by  the  music. 

While  the  little  group  were  sitting  chatting  they  were 
discovered  by  Janet.  In  her  wanderings  after  the  piper, 
Janet  had  met  with  various  adventures  that  had  left  her 
in  rather  sad  disarray.  Bud  had  forsaken  her  for  the  boys 
on  the  football  field;  but  Lennie  and  Nellie  had  followed 


A  JARRING  NOTE  241 

her  faithfully  all  day.  Yet  Lennie  was  still  neat  and  his 
clothes  were  untarnished.  Nellie,  too,  was  almost  as  tidy 
as  when  she  left  home.  Her  golden  curls  were  smooth,  her 
pretty  white  dress  was  fairly  clean,  and  her  sash  was  neatly 
tied. 

But  from  the  top  of  her  towsled  head  to  the  tip  of  her 
muddy  shoes  Janet  was  a  wreck;  and  looked  as  if  she 
had  been  at  a  continuous  picnic  for  a  week.  Her  face  was 
crimson  with  excitement  and  heat  and  hard  work ;  for  she 
had  won  two  races  and  been  a  vigorous  also-ran  in  a  couple 
of  others.  She  had  swung  to  the  tree  tops  in  all  the  swings, 
many  times  over;  had  ridden  fourteen  revolutions  upon 
the  merry-go-round;  and  had  dogged  the  piper's  steps 
through  the  woods,  until  her  marching  had  measured  miles. 
She  had  slipped  into  the  creek;  and  her  white  shoes  had 
turned  a  dark  green.  The  embroidered  flounce  of  the  white 
dress  had  parted  company  with  the  remainder  of  her  cos- 
tume and  had  been  pinned  up  in  front  by  Nellie's  well- 
meaning  but  unskilful  fingers,  with  a  large  and  very  con- 
spicuous safety  pin.  Her  blue  sash,  which  had  given  such 
a  deep  colour  to  her  big  grey  eyes,  was  now  a  small  thin 
string  around  her  waist,  and  its  tails  were  dangling  at  the 
side.  Her  hair  was  in  a  wild  confusion  of  waves  and 
curls,  and  hung  over  one  eye;  and  the  bow  that  had  con- 
fined her  heavy  braid  was  gone  altogether. 

But,  as  usual,  Janet  was  blissfully  unconscious  of  her 
appearance;  and  as  they  came  within  sight  of  her  group 
of  friends,  she  started  towards  them. 

"Oh,  there's  Miss  Lena !  Let's  go  and  ask  her  why  Molly 
hasn't  come  yet !"  she  cried. 

Nellie  looked  down  at  her  dress  which  was  not  as  fresh 
as  she  would  have  liked.  She  was  a  very  tidy  little  girl  and 
felt  abashed  unless  she  was  sure  every  hair  and  shoelace 
was  in  its  right  place.  "I  don't  like  to  go,"  she  said,  pausing 
in  the  pathway.  "Don't  let  us,  Janet." 

"Why?"  asked  Janet  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  I  feel  so  untidy,  I'm  ashamed." 

Quite  oblivious  of  her  own  terrible  appearance,  Janet 


242  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

looked  Nellie  all  over.  "Do  you?"  she  asked,  interested. 
"I  never  felt  untidy  in  my  life.  I've  often  felt  tidy,  though, 
and  it's  an  awful  feeling — just  as  if  you  couldn't  breathe." 

"Well,  I  like  to  feel  tidy,"  declared  Lennie,  in  his  superior 
way.  "And  if  you  don't  feel  untidy  now,  Jenny,  it's  pretty 
queer." 

But  Janet  was  moving  forward  all  unabashed ;  and  her 
two  satellites  followed.  Mr.  Balfour  hailed  them  joyfully. 
He  had  not  seen  Janet  since  he  had  pinned  the  first  prize 
badge  on  her  some  hours  earlier. 

"Hello,  Jenny  Melody!"  he  called.  "Where  have  you 
been  all  day?" 

"Oh,  my  goodness,  Janet  Meldrum!"  cried  Martha 
Beckett.  "Wait  till  your  mother  sees  you!  She'll  take  a 
fit.  Sakes  alive,  keep  away  from  Sylvia!  There's  water 
dripping  off  your  dress." 

Janet  stepped  hastily  back;  but  Mr.  Balfour  caught  her 
little  brown  hand ;  and,  motioning  to  the  other  two,  he  soon 
had  the  three  children  clustered  around  him. 

"Your  dress  looks  as  if  you  had  been  having  a  really  good 
time,"  he  said  approvingly.  "Now  tell  us  how  many  prizes 
you  got." 

Janet  brightened.  "Two  firsts  in  the  races,  and  the  prize 
was  a  doll  and  a  book,  and  they  both  fell  into  the  creek," 
she  added  sadly. 

"But  Nellie  got  a  prize,  too;  and  it's  a  lovely  handker- 
chief." 

"Janet  got  a  prize  for  bouncing  a  ball,"  added  Nellie  gen- 
erously. 

"And  who  got  a  prize  for  eating  the  most  ice-cream?" 
asked  Nellie's  big  brother,  who  was  lying  stretched  upon 
the  flowery  ground  in  front  of  Sylvia  Ward. 

"I  ate  the  most!"  cried  Lennie,  relieved  to  discover  at 
last  a  sphere  in  which  he  shone.  "I  had  three  cones  and 
two  dishes." 

"Janet  had  three  cones,  too,"  cried  Nellie,  "but  she  gave 
one  to  Bud  Kelly,  and  another  to  the  baby." 


A  JARRING  NOTE  243 

"And  it  gave  the  baby  the  stomachache,"  said  Janet  rue- 
fully. 

"I  took  the  highest  swing  of  anybody!"  cried  Lennie, 
rising  once  more  into  prominence. 

"Come  now,  think  of  something  else  you've  excelled  in, 
Janet,"  urged  Mr.  Balfour. 

Janet  looked  around  to  see  if  she  could  recall  any  further 
achievement ;  and  finally  added  boastfully : 

"I'm  sure  I've  got  the  dirtiest  dress  !T' 

The  laughter  that  arose  at  this  was  not  in  the  least  dis- 
concerting to  Janet.  She  laughed,  too,  and  then,  remem- 
bering her  errand,  cried,  "Oh,  Miss  Lena,  where's  Molly?" 

Lena  Sinclair  turned  to  her  cousin.  "Sylvie,  where's 
Molly  ?  She  was  to  come  in  the  car  with  you  and  Sam." 

"Molly?"  Miss  Sylvia  seemed  trying  to  remember. 
"Was  I  to  bring  her  ?  I  forgot.  I  left  her  ironing." 

Janet  gasped  in  dismay.    "Isn't  she  coming  at  all  ?" 

Sylvia  laughed  and  took  hold  of  Janet's  long  braid. 
"What  a  greedy  little  girl.  You  must  have  everybody  in 
Cherry  Hill  at  your  picnic.  Molly  will  be  along,  you  may 
be  sure.  You  couldn't  keep  a  Kelly  away  from  a  picnic." 

Miss  Lena  looked  worried.  "She  ought  to  be  here,  girls. 
Sam  went  back  for  some  more  cream  and  he'll  surely  bring 
her." 

Janet  and  Nellie  wandered  back  to  the  road ;  they  found 
Rosie  there  watching  for  her  sister.  At  last  they  were 
rewarded  by  the  sight  of  the  Sinclair  car  coming  bumping 
down  from  the  road.  The  three  little  girls  ran  to  meet  it, 
to  find  only  Sam. 

"Molly  wouldn't  come,"  he  explained,  as  they  gathered 
clamorously  about  him.  He  had  coaxed  her,  but  Sylvia  had 
left  her  with  a  lot  of  ironing  to  do,  and  it  wasn't  finished. 
Some  folks  had  too  many  clothes,  that  was  Sam's  opinion, 
and  he  strode  away  from  them  looking  very  cross  indeed. 

The  three  little  girls  strolled  back  alone  to  the  supper 
tables.  Molly  wasn't  coming!  Rosie  was  almost  in  tears, 
and  Janet  was  quite  as  distressed.  After  all  Molly's  hopes 
of  being  at  the  picnic  in  her  pink  muslin,  she  hadn't  come 


244  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

at  all !    A  pall  hung  over  the  remainder  of  the  day.    Even 
the  piper's  magic  notes  could  not  dispel  the  gloom. 

Janet  rode  home  between  her  mother  and  Mr.  Balfour 
and  poured  out  the  big  disappointment  of  the  day.  And  it 
was  some  small  comfort  to  find  that  Mr.  Balfour  seemed 
almost  as  worried  over  Molly's  absence  as  she  was. 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  DIFFICULT  PIECE  OF  Music 

MOLLY  explained  tearfully  on  Sunday.  Miss  Sylvia 
had  come  home  and  Sarah  Kennedy  had  to  hurry  with 
a  dress  she  brought;  and  so  the  pink  muslin  could  not  be 
finished.  Then  Molly  had  to  do  a  big  ironing  for  Miss  Syl- 
via ;  and  by  the  time  it  was  finished  Sam  had  to  go  to  the  pic- 
nic without  her.  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  made  her  dress  up  and 
go  out  and  watch  at  the  gate  for  "a  chance,"  but  none  came. 
Everybody  had  gone  to  the  picnic  early.  And  then  it  was 
milking  time,  and  so  Molly  did  not  get  away  at  all.  She 
had  no  blame  for  anyone.  Miss  Sylvia  was  a  creature  set  so 
far  above  ordinary  mortals  that  Molly  did  not  dream  of 
judging  her. 

But  that  picnic  day  proved  only  a  forerunner  of  the 
summer  days  ahead.  Molly  could  never  come  home  for 
even  a  visit.  There  was  always  a  pair  of  white  shoes  to 
clean  for  Miss  Sylvia,  or  a  ripped  glove  to  mend,  and 
Molly  was  so  careful  and  deft,  it  was  very  convenient  to 
give  her  everything  to  do.  And  Miss  Sylvia  was  so  lovely 
that  Molly  was  a  willing  slave.  She  was  always  being 
rewarded  for  a  long  day's  ironing  by  the  gift  of  an  old 
scarf,  or  a  discarded  bit  of  ribbon,  or  a  box  of  chocolates, 
when  Mr.  Hilton  brought  a  couple  from  town. 

Janet's  chattering  tongue  reported  all  Molly's  troubles ; 
and  though  she  herself  did  not  recognise  their  cause,  Hugh 
Balfour  could  not  shut  his  eyes  to  it. 

"Mother,  Molly  can't  come  to  Mission  Band,"  she  said  one 
day  at  dinner.  "And  Rosie  can't  go  unless  she  takes  the 
baby ;  and  can't  I  go  over  and  help  her  carry  him  to  church  ?" 

245 


246  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Mrs.  Meldrum  was  very  much  averse  to  Janet's  carrying 
the  Kelly  baby. 

"Dear  me,  does  Mrs.  Sinclair  never  let  poor  Molly  come 
home  any  more?"  she  asked. 

"Not  on  Mondays,  'cause  that's  wash-day,"  Janet  ex- 
plained. "And  Tuesday  Molly  has  to  iron  Miss  Sylvia's 
white  dresses;  and  Wednesday  that  Mr.  Hilton  always 
comes  out,  and " 

"I  wouldn't  talk  so  much,  dear,  if  I  were  you,"  said  her 
mother  hastily. 

"But  you  asked  me,  Mother,  and  I  was  just  telling  you," 
declared  Janet  reasonably. 

"Well,  eat  your  dinner,  dear,  and  never  mind  about 
Molly." 

"But  can't  I  help  Rosie  with  the  baby,  Mother  ?" 

"I  shall  see.    Don't  ask  any  more  questions  just  now." 

Hugh  Balfour  had  been  sitting  silent,  turning  over  the 
crisp  lettuce  on  his  plate  without  seeing  it.  Janet  regarded 
him  anxiously. 

"Did  you  find  a  worm  on  your  lettuce,  Mr.  Balfour?"  she 
asked  in  deep  solicitude.  "Nellie's  father  found  a  great, 
big,  fat,  green  worm " 

"Janet !"  cried  her  mother,  horrified.  "How  can  you  speak 
of  anything  so  disgusting  at  the  table  ?" 

"But  he  did,  Mother  dear,  really!"  she  declared.  "It 
was  a  new  kind  of  salad  Marjorie  made;  she  learned  it  at 
school,  but  she  forgot  to  look  over  the  lettuce,  and — 
Oh,  Mother,  do  let  me  tell  the  rest!" 

Mrs.  Meldrum  moved  her  hands  in  a  despairing  gesture ; 
and,  as  it  was  not  an  actual  prohibition,  and  Mr.  Balfour 
was  looking  at  her  with  inviting  eyes,  Janet  rushed  on. 

"And  there  was  a  big  green  worm  on  Dr.  Gillespie's 
plate ;  and  the  others  were  all  through  supper ;  and  he  was 
having  his  alone ;  'cause  he'd  been  away  Down  Below  seeing 
Mrs.  Jimmie  McArthur's  baby.  And — there's  not  much 

more,  Mother "  she  added  encouragingly.  "And  that 

Mr.  Nelson  that  comes  to  see  Marjorie  was  coming  up 
the  walk;  and  Nellie's  papa  was  so  angry  that  he  threw 


A  DIFFICULT  PIECE  OF  MUSIC        247 

the  salad  out  of  the  dining-room  window;  and  it  hit  Mr. 
Nelson  right  in  the  face,  and " 

"Janet!" 

"I'm  just  finishing,  Mother,"  she  gasped  anxiously. 
"And  Nellie  says  her  papa  says  it  served  Marjorie  right 
'cause  it'd  show  Mr.  Nelson  what  was  ahead  of  him.  What 
did  he  mean  by  that,  Mother  ?  I'd  think  it  would  keep  him 
from  seeing  anything  ahead  of  him;  'cause  the  mustard 
got  into  his  eyes;  and  Nellie  said  he  cried  all  the  time  he 
was  there.  And  Marjorie  cried,  too,  after  he  was  gone," 
she  added  rather  sadly. 

"Oh,  Janet !"  her  mother  burst  out  despairingly.  "I  never 
let  you  go  anywhere,  even  down  to  Nellie's,  without  your 
coming  home  with  some  ridiculous  story " 

But  Hugh  Balfour  was  laughing  unrestrainedly;  and, 
much  relieved,  Janet  laughed  with  him. 

"Dr.  Gillespie's  temper  is  a  very  uncertain  quantity," 
remarked  Mrs.  Meldrum,  when  Janet  had  been  sent  to  the 
kitchen  for  the  hot  water  which  Kirsty  invariably  forgot. 
"But  I  did  not  know  it  carried  him  to  such  extremes.  What 
in  the  world  started  the  child  on  that  dreadful  tale?" 

Mr.  Balfour  offered  no  explanation ;  and  was  saved  from 
replying  by  the  return  of  the  child  herself,  very  anxious 
to  tell  more  about  Molly's  troubles,  and  prevented  only  by 
her  mother's  firmest  refusal. 

But  for  the  next  week  they  were  all  driven  from  Janet's 
mind  by  a  new  excitement,  second  only  to  the  picnic  itself. 
The  ladies  of  all  the  missionary  societies  within  a  wide 
district  decided  to  have  a  convention  about  the  end  of 
June,  and  Cherry  Hill  was  honoured  as  the  place  of  meeting. 

Those  were  busy  days  for  Knox  Church.  There  were 
nearly  fifty  delegates  from  a  distance  to  be  accommodated 
with  beds  and  meals  for  two  days,  and  one  night;  and 
there  was  to  be  an  indefinite  throng  for  supper  in  the 
church  both  evenings.  So  it  was  no  wonder  that  for  a 
week  before  the  event  you  could  smell  lemon  pies  and 
layer-cake  baking  all  up  and  down  the  valley.  It  was  the 
very  best  time  for  a  meeting  in  Cherry  Hill,  for  the  gardens 


248  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

were  all  abloom,  and  the  Caldwell  peonies  were  a  sight 
worth  a  journey  across  the  country. 

To  Janet's  great  joy  they  were  to  have  two  delegates, 
ladies  from  West  Hampton,  which  was  no  village,  but  a 
big  town  with  a  handsome  church  which  she  had  visited 
once  with  her  father.  Janet  was  anxious  that  she  should 
not  do  anything  very  dreadful,  to  bring  disgrace  upon  Knox 
Church  while  they  were  with  them.  For,  coming  from 
town,  and  from  a  rich  church  like  the  West  Hampton  one, 
they  would  very  likely  be  very  grand  ladies.  And  being 
delegates  to  a  Missionary  Convention,  they  would  of  course 
be  very,  very  good. 

She  was  in  bed  when  they  arrived,  and  did  not  meet  them 
until  the  next  morning  at  breakfast.  She  sat  opposite  them, 
glancing  at  them  with  big  grave  eyes,  speaking  only  when 
she  was  spoken  to,  and  then  as  briefly  as  possible,  and 
apparently  absorbed  in  her  bowl  of  porridge  and  milk. 
She  behaved  so  very  well,  indeed,  that  one  of  the  ladies  said 
to  Mr.  Balfour  in  a  low  tone,  which  Janet  heard  distinctly, 
wasn't  she  a  dear  wee  mouse,  and  such  a  good,  quiet  child ! 
And  Mr.  Balfour  was  such  a  gentleman  he  did  not  even 
allow  his  eyes  to  twinkle  when  he  answered  that  she  was 
indeed  a  very  good,  little  girl. 

But  just  because  Janet  had  to  be  quiet,  she  used  up  her 
energies  in  seeing  and  hearing  and  understanding  in  an 
uncanny  manner  everything  that  was  going  on.  She  could 
have  described  the  delegates'  clothes  to  the  last  thread  and 
button,  had  she  been  asked.  She  saw  that  Mrs.  Wallace, 
the  handsome  stout  lady,  wore  a  very  magnificent  purple 
dress  with  a  lovely  white  satin  front,  and  long  earrings  of 
some  dazzling  purple  stones;  and  that  the  jewels  of  the 
brooch  in  the  lace  at  her  neck  were  exactly  the  same  shape 
and  colour  as  those  in  the  earrings.  And  she  saw  that  Miss 
Henderson  was  small  and  pale  and  held  her  head  on  one 
side  like  a  little  sparrow;  that  she  was  dressed  in  grey, 
and  wore  a  great  many  pretty  rings  that  sparkled  delight- 
fully. She  noted,  too,  that  Miss  Henderson  smiled  a  great 


A  DIFFICULT  PIECE  OF  MUSIC        249 

deal ;  but  smiled  most  at  Mr.  Balf our ;  for  which  Janet  rather 
liked  her  the  more. 

Directly  after  prayers,  Mr.  Balfour  was  called  to  the 
telephone;  and  while  the  ladies  still  lingered  at  the  table 
Mrs.  Wallace  said: 

"I'm  so  glad  this  young  minister  of  yours  is  going  to 
speak,  Mrs.  Meldrum.  You  know,  our  dear  old  Dr.  Mc- 
Clelland is  looking  for  an  assistant.  He  wishes  to  retire 
soon.  The  dear  old  gentleman  is  deaf  and  all  worn  out, 
and  should  have  retired  ten  years  ago.  And  my  husband, 
you  know,  Mrs.  Meldrum,  being  an  elder " 

"And  one  whose  word  goes  a  long  way  indeed,"  said 
Miss  Henderson  with  an  admiring  chirp. 

Mrs.  Wallace  smiled  deprecatingly,  and  her  earrings 
winked  prettily.  "J.  D.  does  try  to  use  his  spare  time  help- 
ing all  he  can,"  she  admitted.  "He  heard  Mr.  Balfour  once 
in  Toronto  last  year,  you  know.  We  were  down  at  the 
Exhibition  and  he  preached  in  St.  Luke's;  and  when  we 
were  coming  out  of  church,  J.  D.  said  to  me,  'Agnes,  when 
Dr.  McClelland  resigns,  that's  the  young  man  we  must  have 
in  West  Hampton.'  Those  were  the  very  words  he  said. 
'That's  the  young  man  we  must  have  in  West  Hampton.' 
And  last  Easter  when  he  preached  over  in  Algonquin,  J.  D. 
and  two  of  our  managers  motored  over  to  hear  him.  Of 
course  this  is  strictly  between  ourselves;  but  when  Mr. 
Balfour  is  through,  there  will  be  no  doubt  about  where  he 
will  be  called." 

Mrs.  Meldrum  listened  eagerly.  She  wished  Hugh  had 
not  been  quite  so  precipitate  in  volunteering  for  the  foreign 
mission  field.  West  Hampton  was  a  very  wealthy  and 
prominent  church. 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  Mr.  Balfour  has  offered  him- 
self for  foreign  work?"  she  asked  hesitatingly. 

Mrs.  Wallace's  earrings  twinkled  knowingly.  "We  heard 

that,  but "  she  nodded  and  smiled,  and  Miss  Henderson 

nodded  and  smiled  also.  The  smiles  said  quite  plainly 
that  no  wise  young  man  would  choose  India  or  China  in 
preference  to  West  Hampton. 


250  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

When  Mr.  Balfour  returned  from  the  telephone,  Mrs. 
Wallace  leaned  towards  him,  her  earrings  shaking  dazzlingly. 

"I  liked  what  you  said  in  the  discussion  last  night,  Mr. 
Balfour.  I  agree  with  you  that  we  need  more  young  men 
in  the  ministry.  West  Hampton,  now,  needs  a  young  man. 
Dr.  McClelland  himself  says  so."  She  looked  at  him  mean- 
ingly. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Balfour  might  suggest  one  for  us,"  chirped 
Miss  Henderson,  and  smiled  more  fascinatingly  than  ever. 

"I  don't  think  West  Hampton  needs  any  suggestions," 
said  Mrs.  Wallace  archly.  "My  husband  and  several  other 
officials  have  made  up  their  minds  already." 

Mr.  Balfour  looked  very  uncomfortable,  Janet  thought. 
"I  may  as  well  tell  you  they  are  going  to  approach  you,  when 
you  graduate,"  Mrs.  Wallace  said  softly. 

"That's  very  flattering,"  he  said,  looking  still  more  uncom- 
fortable. "But  I — my  work — I'm  afraid "  he  hesitated. 

"I'm  afraid  my  work  may  take  me  far  away  from  here." 

"Are  you  looking  towards  some  post-graduate  work?" 
asked  Miss  Henderson  in  the  hope  of  drawing  him  into  a 
confession. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  he  stammered.  "My  plans  are  not  yet 
made.  I  am  undecided  what  I  shall  do  when  I  graduate." 

Mrs.  Meldrum  looked  across  the  table  at  the  young  man 
in  some  surprise.  She  was  puzzled.  This  was  not  like 
Hugh,  this  state  of  indecision.  But  twelve  years  as  a  min- 
ister's wife  had  taught  her  the  value  of  silence.  She  said 
nothing,  but  she  thought  of  Sylvia  Ward. 

When  Janet  came  home  from  school  in  the  afternoon 
there  was  only  Kirsty  in  the  house.  Everyone  else  was  at 
the  church.  Her  mother  had  said  that  if  she  would  smooth 
her  hair,  and  change  her  dress,  and  wash  her  face,  and 
make  herself  nice  and  tidy,  she  might  come  over  to  the 
meeting  at  the  church,  too.  So  she  tore  a  dress  down  from 
a  hook  in  her  closet  and  put  it  on,  all  unconscious  that  it 
was  one  that  had  to  be  mended.  Her  mother  had  laid 
one  out  on  the  bed  for  her ;  but  she  did  not  see  it.  She  gave 
her  hair  a  rake  with  the  brush;  and,  without  looking  at 


A  DIFFICULT  PIECE  OF  MUSIC        251 

herself  in  the  glass,  she  ran  downstairs.  And  as  she  reached 
the  bottom  step  the  bell  rang. 

Kirsty  popped  her  head  in  through  the  door  leading  to 
the  kitchen,  and  whispered  fiercely: 

"See  who  yon  is  at  the  door,  Jinit ;  an'  tell  them  we'll  no 
lend  them  another  hate !"  and  the  door  slammed  emphati- 
cally. 

Janet  had  been  accustomed  all  her  life  to  the  wholesale 
borrowing  from  the  Manse  that  arose  whenever  there  was 
a  festivity  at  the  church;  and  she  accepted  it  as  a  part  of 
every  social  function.  But  Kirsty  rebelled  and  gave  out 
everything  with  a  grudging  hand. 

Janet  opened  the  door  to  find  Lennie's  mother,  and  Susie 
Beckett's  mother,  and  young  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  on  the 
step. 

She  met  them  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "If  you  please," 
she  said,  addressing  Lennie's  mother,  "if  it's  something 
you  want  to  borrow  for  the  supper,  Mother's  at  the  church, 
and  I'm  afraid  Kirsty  won't  lend  it  to  you." 

Mrs.  Beckett  was  a  stout,  jolly  woman  and  she  laughed 
aloud.  "No,  I'll  bet  she  won't,"  she  cried.  "I  know  Kirsty, 
and  all  her  forebears !  But  all  we  want  is  to  borrow  a  chair 
for  five  minutes'  rest.  We're  dead  tired,  Janet;  and  your 
mother  told  us  to  come  over  here  and  rest  in  the  quiet." 

Janet  showed  them  into  the  big  empty  parlour,  very  cor- 
dially. Young  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  giggled  over  Kirsty; 
but  Mrs.  Caldwell  was  inclined  to  be  resentful. 

"I  think  Kirsty  takes  a  great  deal  upon  herself  for  a 
servant,  Janet,"  she  remarked,  as  she  sank  into  an  easy 
chair,  and  fanned  herself  with  a  newspaper.  "And  so  I 
have  told  your  mother  many  a  time." 

"But  Kirsty  isn't  a  servant,"  said  Janet  wonderingly. 

"She  isn't?    What  is  she,  then,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

Janet  pondered  this.  "I —  Oh,  I  guess  she's  the  man- 
ager of  us  all.  I  know  she  makes  us  all  mind;  even  Mr. 
Balfour  is  afraid  of  her  if  he  comes  in  late  for  meals." 

"Well,  well,"  declared  Mrs.  Caldwell.     "That's  not  the 


252  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

way  servants  act  in  the  old  country.  I  always  knew  she 
didn't  know  her  place." 

"That's  what  Kirsty  always  says  about  the  Ladies'  Aid," 
said  Janet,  having  no  idea  of  the  exact  meaning  of  the 
phrase. 

Young  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  was  in  a  spasm  of  giggles  by 
this  time ;  and  Mrs.  Beckett  said,  "Run  and  get  us  a  drink 
of  water,  Lassie;  perhaps  Kirsty  will  spare  us  that  much." 

Janet  came  back  with  a  tray,  holding  a  pitcher  and  three 
tumblers.  Kirsty  had  given  her  the  second  best  glasses, 
that  were  used  every  day,  and  an  old  blue  pitcher  with  a 
crack  in  it.  When  Kirsty  did  not  approve  of  a  visitor,  she 
had  her  own  way  of  showing  it;  and  had  been  known  to 
send  in  the  kitchen  cups  and  saucers,  when  Mrs.  Meldrum 
was  serving  tea  to  an  unwelcome  guest. 

But  Janet  would  not  have  noticed  anything  wrong  if 
Kirsty  had  sent  her  in  with  the  tin  pail  and  the  dipper, 
and  she  carried  the  tray  in  quite  happily. 

As  she  came  to  the  door  with  it  the  ladies  were  deep  in 
a  conversation. 

"You  can  tell  by  her  clothes  she's  wealthy.  Her  hus- 
band's a  lumber  merchant  and  as  rich  as  a  Jew,"  young  Mrs. 
Gibbie  Gibson  was  saying.  "They  pay  half  the  minister's 
salary,  they  say.  And  they're  keen  for  him."1' 

"Hump,"  said  Mrs.  Beckett,  taking  a  long  drink.  "Then 
he'll  go;  you  mark  my  word.  Our  Martha  says  that  you- 
know-who  won't  have  him  if  he  goes  among  the  heathens ; 
and  that  he  kind  o'  guesses  that." 

"I  didn't  believe  he'd  be  the  kind  to  be  turned  away  from 
his  duty,"  said  Mrs.  Caldwell  solemnly.  "When  the  Lord 
has  called  a  young  man  it's  a  solemn  thing  for  him  to  dis- 
obey." 

"Maybe  he  hadn't  made  up  his  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Beckett, 
in  her  good-natured  way.  "He  never  said  anything  about 
it  to  anybody." 

"He  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough  and  looketh  back," 
quoted  Mrs.  Caldwell  solemnly. 

Janet  passed  the  glasses,  listening  intently.     She  knew 


A  DIFFICULT  PIECE  OF  MUSIC        253 

whom  they  were  talking  about,  just  as  well  as  if  their 
names  had  been  shouted  to  her. 

"She's  not  the  right  kind  of  a  wife  for  a  minister,  any- 
how," said  Mrs.  Beckett.  "She's  all  right,  I've  no  doubt, 
but  we  were  all  thinking, — and  our  Martha,  too, — that  it 
would  be  the  other  one." 

"It  ain't  the  other  one's  fault,  anyhow,"  giggled  Mrs. 
Gibbie  Gibson. 

"Poor  thing!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beckett. 

"It  was  always  that  way,  Gib  says,"  declared  Mrs.  Gibbie 
Gibson.  "Ever  since  those  girls  was  kids,  and  went  to 
school  here  together.  Whatever  one  wanted  the  other  al- 
ways got,  clothes  and  everything.  And  now  it's  a  man." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  arose.  "You  two  stay  here;  I  must  run 
over  home  for  a  minute  and  look  after  Grandpa.  But  I 
do  say  that  if  any  man  allows  a  girl  to  turn  him  aside  from 
the  work  to  which  the  Lord  has  called  him,  he  is  not  worthy 
of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  We  ha^e  Scripture  for  it." 

Janet  went  out  with  Mrs.  Caldwell.  As  they  went  down 
the  steps  together  she  put  her  hand  into  that  of  Lennie's 
mother  confidingly.  "Mrs.  Caldwell,"  she  said,  "won't  Miss 
Sylvia  marry  Mr.  Balfour  if  he  goes  away  to  India  to  be 
a  missionary?" 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  for  a  moment  as  though  she  were. 
about  to  faint;  then  her  face  grew  crimson.  "Oh,  Janet? 
It  wasn't  right  of  Mrs.  Beckett  and  Mrs.  Gibson  to  be  talk- 
ing about  Mr.  Balfour  that  way,"  she  stammered,  trying  to* 
remember  in  dismayed  haste,  just  what  she  had  said  herself, 
an  exercise  in  which  Janet  could  have  been  of  great  assist- 
ance to  her.  "But  you  won't  mention  it,  will  you,  like  a 
good,  little  girl?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  won't  tell  on  you,"  said  Janet  generously. 
"But  I — I  don't  want  Mr.  Balfour  to  go  away  so  far.  Do 
you  think  she'll  make  him  stay?" 

"I  think  we'd  better  not  talk  about  it,  Janet,"  said  the 
lady  hurriedly,  "and  don't  even  think  about  it,  please,  dear. 
There's  been  too  much  said  already.  Dear,  dear,  who  would 


254  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

have  thought?"  and  she  hurried  away  across  the  village 
street  in  great  trepidation. 

Nevertheless  Janet  did  a  great  deal  of  thinking  upon 
the  subject.  She  feared  it  might  be  wrong;  but  she  could 
not  help  hoping  Miss  Sylvia  would  make  him  stay  home. 
She  went  over  to  the  church  and  sat  beside  her  mother 
and  listened  to  the  missionary  addresses.  She  was  quite 
sure  that  Mr.  Balfour's  was  the  best,  and  was  very  much 
pleased  to  find  that  Mrs.  Wallace  agreed  with  her. 

"That  young  man's  inspired,"  the  delegate  whispered  to 
Mrs.  Meldrum,  as  they  came  down  the  aisle  together;  and 
the  tears  in  her  eyes  made  her  earrings  look  pale.  "I  covet 
him  for  West  Hampton ;  but  if  he  wants  to  go  to  the  foreign 
field  neither  J.  D.  nor  I  will  put  a  straw  in  his  way !" 

The  delegates  left  the  next  afternoon.  As  Janet  hurried 
home  from  school  she  found  them  in  the  hall  with  suit- 
cases and  bags.  Cars  stood  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Wallace 
and  Miss  Henderson  were  bidding  her  mother  and  Mr. 
Balfour  good-bye.  They  patted  Janet  on  the  head  and 
kissed  her,  and  declared  she  was  the  quietest  and  best  little 
girl  they  had  ever  seen. 

Mrs.  Wallace  held  Mr.  Balfour's  hand  a  long  time. 

"I  should  like  to  think  that  this  wasn't  a  farewell,"  she 
said,  smiling  up  at  him.  "But  after  last  night's  address,  I 
couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  influence  you  in  any  way. 
You  must  go  where  you  are  led.  God  bless  you." 

Mr.  Balfour's  face  was  pale  and  Janet  looked  up  at  him 
in  sudden  anxiety. 

"Thank  you  for  your  interest.  I  hope — I  cannot  say  yet 
what  I  shall  do."  His  voice  was  very  low,  his  manner 
humble. 

He  went  back  into  the  study;  and  all  evening  Janet 
watched  in  vain  for  the  inviting  flag.  She  wondered  why 
it  was  not  out,  for  Mr.  Balfour  was  surely  not  studying. 
She  could  hear  him  tramping  up  and  down,  up  and  down 
the  room;  and  hoped  Kirsty  would  not  hear  him,  or  he 
would  surely  get  a  scolding  for  wearing  out  the  carpet. 

But  long  after  Janet  and  even  Kirsty  were  deep  in  sleep, 
the  steady  tramp  continued. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
MIDSUMMER  Music 

JANET  was  seated  on  the  back  steps  doing  penance  for 
a  morning  of  too  much  joy.  By  dint  of  a  great  deal  of 
coaxing  and  arguing  she  had  managed  to  get  away  on  a 
hilarious  expedition  with  Bud  and  Rosie,  over  fences  and 
across  fields  in  search  of  ground  plums.  They  had  brought 
home  very  little  fruit ;  but  Janet  had  gathered  a  great  variety 
and  number  of  burrs  which  she  had  carried  home  in  her 
hair. 

She  had  seated  herself  upon  the  kitchen  steps,  and  was 
fairly  tearing  out  her  hair  in  her  despairing  efforts  to 
be  rid  of  them. 

School  had  been  closed  for  a  week.  While  Janet  had 
planned  to  make  strenuous  efforts  to  sing  and  make  melody 
in  her  heart  through  the  long  dreary  days  of  separation 
from  her  companions,  like  most  grown  folk  she  had  found 
the  future  not  half  so  bad  as  the  anticipation  of  it. 

For  one  reason,  Mr.  Balfour  had  decided  not  to  take  his 
holidays  until  her  father's  return ;  a  decision  for  which  old 
Mr.  Gibbie  Gibson  commended  him  highly.  He  had  never 
been  able  to  understand,  he  declared,  why  preachers  should 
find  it  necessary  to  leave  their  work  and  spend  every  sum- 
mer in  idleness.  He  himself  had  worked  hard  for  fifty 
years  and  had  never  taken  a  day  off;  and  it  was  contrary 
to  the  Scripture,  too;  for  where  would  you  read  of  the 
Apostle  Paul  quitting  his  preaching  and  going  away  off  to 
Corinth  or  Athens  for  a  holiday?  It  was  clean  ridiculous. 

Then  besides  Mr.  Balfour's  ever  delightful  company, 
Janet  had  the  steadily  growing  hope  of  her  father's  return 

255 


256  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

early  in  the  autumn.  His  health  was  almost  completely  re- 
stored; and  he  hoped  to  start  for  Cherry  Hill  before  the 
summer  ended. 

And  then  there  were  all  sorts  of  delightful  doings  in 
the  village  of  which  the  Manse  seemed  the  centre.  So 
many  young  people  were  home  for  their  holidays.  There 
were  Isabel  and  Fred  Gillespie,  and  John  Gibbie  Gibson, 
who  was  learning  to  be  a  minister,  and  fairly  followed  Mr. 
Balfour  about.  There  were  Lennie's  big  sister  and  brother, 
and  a  dozen  others,  all  of  whom  made  the  village  a  very 
lively  place  indeed.  And  best  of  all,  Miss  Lena's  sister 
Annie  was  home  from  school  and  Miss  Sylvia  spent  most 
of  her  time  with  them. 

There  was  a  constant  coming  and  going,  and  so  many 
callers  for  Mr.  Balfour  that  Janet  was  kept  running  to 
answer  the  bell,  an  exercise  that  gave  her  much  joy.  Mr. 
Balfour  had  been  steadily  gathering  about  him  a  following 
of  young  men,  and  Lennie's  brother  and  Nellie's  brother, 
and  Sam  Sinclair  and  all  the  Gibson  boys  were  always 
coming  to  the  Manse  to  consult  him.  Even  Bud's  father, 
who  never  went  to  church  and  said  all  ministers  were  hypo- 
crites, was  not  above  shambling  up  to  the  Manse  to  confer 
with  one  of  the  despised  class  regarding  the  loan  of  a 
dollar  or  two  for  an  indefinite  period  at  no  interest. 

So  the  holidays  were  very  lively  and  pleasant  indeed ;  and 
as  her  mother  was  more  than  usually  busy,  Janet  found 
more  opportunity  to  go  abroad  with  the  Kellys  in  search  of 
adventure. 

But  to-day's  expedition  had  been  too  joyous,  and  now 
she  was  paying  the  penalty.  Pulling  burrs  out  of  one's  hair 
was  a  very  painful  operation ;  and  Janet  had  bravely  tried 
the  silent  singing  as  an  antidote.  But  it  proved  inadequate, 
so  to  keep  up  her  flagging  spirits  she  was  trying  audible 
singing,  and  was  rendering  her  favourite,  "The  Holy  City," 
at  the  top  of  her  voice,  to  a  rather  doubtful  melody,, inter- 
spersed with  still  louder  groans  and  exclamations  of  dis- 
tress. 

Mr.  Balfour,  who  had  been  working  at  the  car  in  the 


MIDSUMMER  MUSIC  257 

back  shed,  heard  the  mistaken  musician,  and  came  to  the 
rescue  of  the  listeners. 

"Why,  Jenny  Melody,"  he  cried,  unable  to  suppress  his 
laughter;  "what's  all  the  row  about?  Have  you  been  stand- 
ing on  your  head  in  the  burr  patch  ?" 

"I  wish  I  was  bald  headed,  like  old  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson," 
declared  Janet  desperately,  jerking  her  matted  locks  into 
a  hopeless  tangle. 

He  sat  down  on  the  steps  beside  her,  and  tried  to  assist. 

"It  really  is  a  rather  bad  plight,"  he  said  sympathetically. 
"But  think  how  funny  you  would  look  without  any  hair, 
when  you  are  grown  up." 

"I  wouldn't  care,"  said  Janet,  feeling  in  an  argumentative 
mood.  "I  could  wear  a  wig,  and  I  could  leave  it  at  home 
when  I  went  out  to  play.  Lennie's  aunt,  that's  visiting 
them  now,  has  a  wig.  She  said  I  had  a  fortune  in  my  hair. 
What  did  she  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

"Oh,  some  prophetic  remark  of  the  lady's,  I  suppose." 
Then,  seeing  she  was  regarding  him  earnestly  through  the 
tangled  screen  of  her  hair,  he  felt  ashamed.  He  strove 
never  to  answer  her  evasively  as  her  mother  so  often  did. 

"She  meant  that  when  you  grow  up,  you  will  be  glad 
your  hair  is  so  long,"  he  added,  "because  all  you  ladies  like 
to  have  beautiful  hair." 

"Is  that  all?"  she  answered,  quite  disappointed.  "I 
thought  perhaps  she  meant  that  I  could  get  it  cut  off,  and 
sell  it  for  a  lot  of  money,  and  be  rich." 

"I  suppose  I  oughn't  to  mind  having  it,  though,"  she 
went  on,  more  resigned;  for  Mr.  Balfour's  fingers  were 
very  gentle ;  and  the  burrs  were  yielding  to  his  touch,  with- 
out producing  anguish.  "I  suppose  I  have  to  have  some 
troubles.  But  if  I  just  had  new  ears  so  that  I  could  sing 
like  Miss  Sylvia,  and  my  hair  cut  off  short  like  Bud's, 
I'd  be  perfectly  happy.  Everybody's  got  something  about 
them  they  don't  want,  I  guess.  What  would  you  like  cut 
off  you  most,  Mr.  Balfour?" 

Mr.  Balfour  thought  that  if  he  had  his  face  cut  off,  and 
his  temper  amputated,  and  had  an  operation  on  his  brains, 


258  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  some  new  grey  matter  inserted,  he  would  be  able  to 
start  life  with  fresh  enthusiasm.  Janet  laughed  in  spite  of 
the  burrs. 

"Everybody  in  the  world,  nearly,  has  something  the  mat- 
ter with  them,"  she  declared,  growing  grave  again  over  a 
very  painful  snarl.  "I've  got  my  hair,  and  Nellie  has  spell- 
ing, and  poor  Daddy  has  sickness,  and  Mother  has  meet- 
ings, and  even  Miss  Lena's  got  something  the  matter  with 
her.  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  I'm  afraid  she  can't  sing 
in  her  heart  all  the  time.  I  don't  think  Miss  Sylvia  has 
anything  wrong  with  her  though.  I'm  glad  she's  here, 
aren't  you  ?  I  guess  Miss  Sylvia  and  you  are  the  only  per- 
sons I  know,  Mr.  Balfour,  that  hasn't  got  something  the 
matter." 

She  peered  at  him  through  the  tangle  of  curls.  "Oh,  I 
do  believe  you're  just  perfect,  aren't  you  ?"  she  exploded. 

"Oh,  Jenny  Melody!"  he  cried,  laughing  helplessly.  "If 
you  only  guessed  how  many,  many  things  I've  got  that  are 
all  wrong!"  He  grew  suddenly  grave.  For  there  was 
something  the  matter  with  him  which  little  Janet  could  not 
guess:  something  so  seriously  wrong  that  it  threatened  to 
spoil  his  whole  life. 

But  Janet  was  again  on  the  painful  subject  of  her  hair. 
"I  wonder  if  it  would  be  very  wicked  to  pray  that  the  Lord 
would  cut  my  hair  off  ?  Do  you  think  He  wouldn't  like  me 
to  ask  Him  for  something  Mother  didn't  want  me  to  have? 
What  would  God  do  if  Mother  and  I  were  asking  Him  for 
different  things?  He'd  get  all  mixed  up,  wouldn't  He?" 

Mr.  Balfour  said  it  was  very  hard  for  God  to  manage 
things  unless  His  servants  were  of  one  mind.  And  that 
was  one  reason  why  it  was  especially  necessary  for  people 
in  the  same  family  to  agree  on  all  things.  He  sighed  heavily 
when  he  said  this,  and  Janet  echoed  the  sigh. 

"I  hardly  ever  agree  with  Mother  about  what  I'm  to 
wear,"  she  confessed  sadly.  "But  I  do  wish  she'd  let  me 
pray  to  have  my  hair  cut  off.  I  could  let  it  grow  again, 
when  I  get  big  like  Miss  Lena.  Don't  you  think  she  has 
lovely  hair,  Mr.  Balfour?" 


MIDSUMMER  MUSIC  259 

"Just  listen  to  those  little  roosters  trying  to  crow,  Janet  !'* 
he  cried  suddenly,  catching  at  the  first  means  of  escaping  the 
embarrassing  question.  He  drew  a  breath  of  relief  as, 
Janet  laughed. 

"Why,  they're  practising,"  she  cried  delightedly.  "It's 
choir  practice,  and  they're  learning  to  sing !" 

They  certainly  needed  to  practise,  for  they  were  a  long 
way  from  a  respectable  crow.  One  little  fellow  let  forth 
a  discordant  squall;  another  sounded  as  if  he  were  choking; 
and  the  noisiest  of  the  choir  uttered  something  like  a  bad, 
consumptive  cough. 

"They  can't  sing  any  better  than  I  can,"  declared  Janet. 
"If  they  ever  learn  to  crow,  I  don't  see  why  I  couldn't  learn 
to  sing;  if  folks  would  let  me  practise  as  much  as  they 
do." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Balfour,  carefully  extracting  a  par- 
ticularly stubborn  burr,  "I'm  sure  you  could  do  better  than 
that  fellow.  He  sounds  as  if  he  had  the  whooping  cough." 

Janet  imitated  the  ridiculous  sounds;  and  Mr.  Balfour 
stopped  hunting  for  burrs  and  looked  at  her  with  sudden 
interest.  "Do  that  again,  Janet,"  he  said.  Janet  did  it 
again  very  willingly,  many  times  over;  and  he  cried  out 
joyously: 

"Why,  that  was  perfect!  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to 
hear  you  singing  as  soon  as  those  little  fellows  learn  to 
crow." 

"Oh,  my!"  cried  Janet,  her  eyes  shining  through  her 
hair.  "I'm  going  to  practise,  too,"  and  she  took  to  crowing 
like  the  chickens,  making  such  a  good  imitation  that  Kirsty 
came  out,  indignantly,  to  see  what  all  the  ructions  were 
about. 

"Never  mind,  Jenny  Melody,"  Mr.  Balfour  said  comfort- 
ingly, when  Janet  was  forced  to  be  siknt  though  the  chick- 
ens continued  practising  louder  than  ever.  "Your  ear  is 
waking  up ;  and  you'll  be  a  singer  yet,  never  fear." 

The  last  burr  was  extracted  after  much  patient  labour; 
and,  overcome  with  gratitude,  Janet  ran  away  upstairs  to 
have  her  hair  combed. 


260  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Oh,  Mother,"  she  cried  joyously,  "Mr.  Balfour  says  my 
ears  are  growing.  I  can  crow  now,  just  as  well  as  Buffy's 
chickens,  and  I'm  going  to  learn  to  sing  some  day;  he  says 
I  will." 

When  her  hair  was  at  last  confined  in  its  long  heavy  braid, 
and  she  had  been  warned  against  further  excursions  among 
briars  and  burrs,  Janet  burst  forth  against  her  chief  im- 
pediment. 

"Mother,  don't  you  think  it's  awful  to  have  hair  like 
mine?  I'm  sure  the  Lord  wouldn't  mind  if  I  asked  Him 
to  let  me  have  it  cut  off ;  not  if  you  didn't  mind.  Would  you 
care  very  much,  Mother  ?"  And  because  her  mother  had  an 
unusually  busy  afternoon  ahead  of  her  she  answered  hur- 
riedly : 

"Well,  well,  dear,  it  will  do  no  harm  to  pray  over  it  if 
you  want  to;  now  run  away  like  a  good  little  girl  and 
practise  your  scales." 

That  night  Janet  prayed  fervently  that  the  burden  of 
her  hair  might  be  removed,  a  prayer  that  was  answered  in 
a  very  short  time,  and  in  a  manner  of  which  she  could  not 
have  dreamed. 

And  the  very  next  day  her  oft-repeated  prayer  that  she 
might  be  able  to  sing  received  the  beginning  of  its  answer. 
It  was  at  Sunday  School  that  this  great  event  happened. 
During  the  week  news  of  terrible  import  had  been  coming 
from  the  Mother  Land  across  the  sea.  Europe  had  burst 
into  flames,  and  the  heat  of  the  conflagration  was  felt  even 
in  far-off  Canada. 

On  Sunday  morning,  at  the  opening  of  Sunday  School, 
Willie  Beckett  spoke  to  the  school  about  the  war,  and 
Britain's  part  in  it :  a  part  that  Canada  was  sure  to  uphold. 
He  spoke  solemnly,  and  the  children  listened,  thrilled  and 
yet  fearful.  At  the  end  of  his  little  address,  he  said :  "And 
now,  we  will  all  stand  and  sing  one  verse  of  'O  Canada !'  " 

The  school  rose  to  its  feet.  Young,  care-free  voices  were 
raised  in  song.  They  sang  it  loudly  and  cheerfully,  as  they 
had  always  done;  and  there  fell  upon  them  no  faintest 
.shadow,  no  dimmest  premonition,  that  there  were  gallant 


MIDSUMMER  MUSIC  261 

young  hearts  raised  there  in  careless  song,  that  would  soon 
be  called  to  redeem  with  their  life-blood  the  pledge  they 
were  uttering: 

"O  Canada,  we  stand  on  guard  for  thee!" 

It  was  absolutely  impossible  for  Janet  to  stand  silent 
through  this  ceremony.  Many  a  time,  in  school,  when  they 
sang,  "O  Canada,"  she  had  been  compelled  to  put  her  hands 
tight  over  her  mouth  to  keep  back  the  sound  that  surged 
forth.  But  to-day  nothing  could  stem  its  flood.  She  just 
had  to  sing.  She  forgot  all  about  her  ear  and  her  voice, 
and  stood  up  straight  and  proud,  and  sang  at  the  top  of 
her  voice. 

Miss  Lena  walked  beside  her  on  the  way  home  from 
church;  and  she  turned  to  Mr.  Balfour,  who  was  just  be- 
hind, and  said: 

"Do  you  know  that  Janet  sang  to-day,  right  out  loud,  and 
there  was  scarcely  a  mistake  in  the  tune  ?" 

"I  knew  she  could !"  he  cried,  "when  I  heard  her  crow  the 
other  day !" 

Janet  could  hardly  wait  till  she  got  home  to  put  her  voice 
to  the  test.  Mr.  Balfour  was  almost  as  excited.  He  sat 
clown  at  the  piano  and  played  a  little  hymn,  and  she  fol- 
lowed carefully. 

When  she  had  finished  he  gave  a  shout  of  joy. 

"Jenny  Melody,  you  can  sing!    That  was  almost  true!" 

Janet  stood  perfectly  still  and  looked  at  him  speechless. 

"Oh,  oh!  Was  it  really  truly,  sure-enough?"  she  whis- 
pered at  last. 

It  appeared  that  it  really  was.  Janet  did  not  learn  to 
sing  at  once,  though  she  had  great  hopes  of  being  equal 
to  Sylvia  Ward  in  a  few  days.  Indeed  she  did  not  learn 
to  follow  a  tune  correctly  for  a  very  long  time;  but  she 
was  capable  of  learning;  her  slowly  awakened  ear  had  be- 
gun to  distinguish  shades  of  sound  at  last.  She  was  so 
delighted  with  her  new-found  talent,  and  so  anxious  to 
perfect  it,  that  she  assiduously  practised  scales  with  her 


262  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

voice  when  jhe  played  them  on  the  piano,  and  constantly 
practised  the  "Holy  City"  in  the  intervals;  all  of  which 
caused  her  mother  more  worry  than  Janet's  former  lack  of 
musical  ability,  and  often  drove  Mr.  Balfour  to  shut  the 
study  door  and  put  his  hands  over  his  ears  to  make  ser- 
monising possible. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
LENNIE  STARTS  A  CHORUS 

EARLY  one  morning,  during  the  last  week  of  the  holi- 
days, Lennie,  in  his  best  blouse  and  most  highly 
polished  boots,  came  up  the  Manse  walk  to  the  front  door 
and  rang  the  bell.  Janet,  who  was  up  in  an  apple  tree 
accompanying  Alice  on  her  visit  to  the  Mock  Turtle,  wit- 
nessed this  extraordinary  formality  with  amazement.  This 
must  surely  be  a  new  kind  of  play  that  Lennie  had  invented  ; 
and  she  proceeded  to  take  her  place  on  the  stage  at  once. 
She  shouted  to  him  to  wait;  and  leaping  down  from  the 
tree,  she  ran  round  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  in  through  the 
back  hall.  And  before  Kirsty  had  time  to  dry  her  hands, 
she  was  opening  the  door  to  Lennie. 

He  stood  there,  hat  in  hand.  Janet  did  not  know  what 
to  do  next.  This  was  a  situation  such  as  she  had  never  met 
before,  but  Lennie  gave  her  her  cue. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said  politely.  "Is  Mrs.  Meldrum 
in?" 

Janet  was  delighted.  It  was  a  play ;  she  was  perfectly  at 
home  now.  "I  believe  she  is,"  she  said  in  a  tone  that  far 
outdid  his  in  politeness.  "Won't  you  please  walk  in?" 
Lennie  stepped  carefully  into  the  hall.  He  was  merely 
carrying  out  his  mother's  instructions,  and  was  rather  over- 
come by  Janet's  manner. 

She  showed  him  into  the  parlour  elaborately.  "Won't  you 
please  sit  down,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  see  if  Mrs.  Meldrum  is 
in."  Then  she  had  a  sudden  fruitful  memory  from  a  book 
she  and  Nellie  had  found  in  Marjorie's  room,  and  read  on 
a  rainy  day.  "I'm  not  sure  if  she's  back  from  the  opera 
yet,"  she  added. 

263 


264  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

She  stepped  into  the  hall;  but  suddenly  bounced  back, 
fired  with  another  inspiration  from  "The  Marriage  of 
Gwendoline." 

"What  name  shall  I  say?"  she  asked. 

Lennie  was  a  smart  little  boy;  he  suddenly  realised  that 
Janet  was  playing  a  part.  He,  too,  had  read  the  "Marriage 
of  Gwendoline." 

"Lord  Lionel  Barrington,"  he  announced,  without  wink- 
ing an  eye. 

Janet  was  so  impressed  that  she  forgot  her  role. 

"Oh,  goodness  me!"  she  exclaimed  in  artless  admiration. 

Encouraged  by  his  success,  Lennie  dropped  his  star  part 
and  became  stage  director. 

"That  isn't  the  way  to  do  it  at  all,  Janet,"  he  said,  in  the 
superior  way  that  Lennie  had.  "You  should  say,  'Will  you 
please  give  me  your  card  ?'  " 

"But  what  would  you  have  a  card  for?"  argued  Janet. 
"Are  you  playing  Christmas?" 

"It's  a  calling  card,"  explained  Lennie  in  disgust.  "That's 
the  way  stylish  people  do  it  all  the  time.  They  never  go  to 
see  each  other  without  they  give  away  ever  and  ever  so 
many  cards." 

~*Td  like  that  if  they  were  pretty  like  Christmas  cards 
or  valentines.  Hurrah  out,  and  let's  play  it  in  the  orchard." 

"But  I  didn't  come  to  play  at  all,"  said  Lennie,  holding 
his  seat  with  dignity.  "Mother  sent  me  over  on  a  real 
errand,  and  you  started  pretending." 

"Is  it  something  your  mother  wants  to  borrow?" 

"No,  it's  something  we're  all  going  to  do.  Oh,  something 
grand!" 

"Oh,  my !  Do  tell  me  before  Mother,  so  I  can  coax  her 
to  let  me !" 

"Mother  said  I  was  to  come  over  and  ring  the  front  door 
bell,  and  ask  you  and  your  mother  and  Mr.  Balfour  if  you'd 
all  come  pickin'  berries  up  on  the  mountain  next  Tuesday." 

Janet  began  to  go  up  and  down  on  one  foot. 

"Oh,  my!  Oh,  Lennie!  Are  you  going?  Oh,  wouldn't 
it  be  grand  if  I  could?  What  did  you  mean  by  keeping 


LENNIE  STARTS  A  CHORUS         265 

something  so  lovely  waiting  such  a  long  time?  I  thought 
maybe  you'd  come  to  borrow  Mother's  preserving  kettle! 
Oh,  oh,  I  wonder  if  I  can  go !" 

She  wanted  Lennie  to  wait  till  she  found  if  this  good 
thing  could  really  be;  but  Lennie  was  very  busy  and  very 
important.  He  had  to  go  to  all  the  other  houses  in  the 
village;  and  Janet  let  him  out  with  very  scant  ceremony, 
in  painful  contrast  to  his  elaborate  reception;  and  rushed 
away  to  her  mother  with  the  news. 

The  greatest  of  all  functions  held  in  Cherry  Hill  society 
was  the  blackberry-picking  in  the  late  summer.  Away  back 
towards  the  south  of  the  valley  rose  a  height  which  was 
called  The  Mountain;  the  wooded  hills  from  which  Janet 
and  Mr.  Balfour  had  viewed  the  whole  country  on  one  of 
their  May  day  drives.  Up  here  was  a  wild  rocky  jungle- 
like  region  where  the  blackberries  grew  like  the  leaves  in 
the  forest.  It  was  the  most  famous  berry-patch  in  the 
County  of  Simcoe.  People  came  even  from  Algonquin  and 
West  Hampton  to  garner  its  purple  harvest;  and  yet  its 
yield  never  became  exhausted. 

Once  a  year  Cherry  Hill  moved  out  to  the  Mountain  in 
a  body  for  a  whole  day's  picking.  It  was  the  custom  for 
one  of  the  leading  ladies  of  the  place  to  send  forth  a  spy 
to  look  over  the  land  and  report.  This  year  Mrs.  Caldwell 
had  sent  her  husband  and  eldest  son ;  and  like  Joshua  and 
Caleb,  they  had  returned  with  glowing  reports  of  its  fruit- 
age. They  brought  back  their  grapes  of  Eschol,  too,  a 
whole  pailful  of  luscious  purple  berries  of  a  size  to  raise 
excitement  in  the  whole  community. 

And  so  Lennie  was  going  through  the  village  like  a  young 
herald,  summoning  the  population  to  gather  for  the  great 
expedition. 

Janet  had  never  been  allowed  to  go  to  the  berry-picking. 
Kirsty  sometimes  went  and  brought  home  a  couple  of  pail- 
fuls  for  her  shelf  of  Stand  Bys.  But  Mrs.  Meldrum  had 
never  taken  part  in  the  annual  festival,  partly  because  she 
was  always  too  busy,  and  partly  because  she  felt  it  was 
not  very  dignified  for  the  minister's  wife  to  go  scrambling 


266  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

over  logs  and  through  underbrush  in  company  with  Mrs. 
Kelly,  and  the  like,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  berries ;  especially 
when  one  remembered  that  her  father  had  always  kept 
two  servants. 

But  Janet  had  no  traditions  to  live  up  to;  and  she  felt 
that  she  could  never  sing  in  her  heart  again  as  long  as 
she  lived,  if  she  could  not  go  to  the  berry-picking.  For  Bud 
and  Nellie  and  Rosie  and  everyone  else  in  Cherry  Hill 
school  was  going.  She  began  at  once  to  lay  siege  to  her 
household.  She  attacked  her  mother  first,  and  after  much 
arguing  and  coaxing  wrung  a  reluctant  half  promise  that 
perhaps,  if  someone  who  was  grown  up  and  responsible 
and  would  look  after  her,  she  might  be  allowed  to  go  for 
the  afternoon  only.  Janet  flew  to  Kirsty  as  the  nearest 
responsible  person.  She  found  her  inexorable.  Kirsty 
would  not  confess  it  for  the  whole  contents  of  the  berry 
patch;  but  her  increasing  rheumatism  made  the  expedition 
impossible. 

"Tuts,"  she  declared.  "It's  jist  gittin'  to  be  a  sparkin'  bee, 
this  goin'  off  to  the  Mountain;  a  lot  o'  light-headed  idlers 
gallivantin'  off  with  empty  heads  and  empty  pails.  I'm  not 
goin',  so  ye  can  jist  hold  yer  whisht." 

Janet  was  too  anxious  to  wait  even  to  ask  what  a  sparkin' 
bee  was,  but  rushed  away  to  Mr.  Balfour.  She  had  not 
forgotten  the  promise  he  had  made  her  on  the  Mountain 
that  May  Day ;  and  she  now  confronted  him  with  it.  There 
was  no  difficulty  here;  he  promised  at  once.  Of  course  he 
would  take  her,  if  he  went;  he  wouldn't  think  of  going  with- 
out her;  but  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  going.  Indeed  he 
had  not  thought  of  it.  And  Janet  had  to  be  content  with 
this.  Something  would  surely  happen  that  would  make  it 
possible  for  him  to  go. 

She  found  that  she  had  still  to  meet  objections  from  her 
mother,  all  of  which  she  parried  with  fluent  arguments; 
but  between  the  uncertainty  as  to  whether  Mr.  Balfour 
could  go  and  the  dread  lest  her  mother  refuse  her  per- 
mission, she  lived  in  a  fever  of  suspense. 

Meanwhile  all  the  rest  of  Cherry  Hill  was  getting  ready. 


LENNIE  STARTS  A  CHORUS         267 

Sylvia  Ward  was  at  the  Sinclairs'  on  one  of  her  frequent 
visits ;  and  she  announced  at  once  that  she  would  surely  go. 
She  had  not  been  picking  berries  since  she  was  a  little  girl 
at  Grandfather's.  Immediately  all  the  young  folk  of  the 
village  lost  their  objection  to  picking  berries  and  planned 
to  go  also. 

Fred  Gillespie  and  John  Gibbie  Gibson  each  promised  to 
take  a  car-load  of  girls.  Sarah  Kennedy  got  Mrs.  Murphy 
to  keep  an  eye  on  her  mother  for  the  day.  Archie  McDuff 
closed  the  blacksmith  shop.  Peter  MacKay  closed  the  store. 
The  farmer  left  the  field  and  his  wife  left  the  kitchen.  And 
even  Kelly,  ,  Senior,  left  his  idling  for  a  day;  and  hiring 
a  horse,  he  hitched  it  to  the  remains  of  a  light  wagon  that 
had  served  the  Kelly  hens  as  a  nesting  place  for  years ;  and 
the  whole  family  prepared  to  migrate. 

And  then,  just  the  afternoon  before  the  great  day,  Mr. 
Balfour  discovered  that  his  work  was  really  going  to  allow 
him  to  get  away.  He  and  Janet  would  take  a  couple  of 
barrels,  he  declared,  and  bring  them  home  full. 

Janet  was  in  the  midst  of  loud  rejoicings  over  this  news, 
capering  up  and  down  the  veranda  with  Pepper,  when  a 
car  stopped  at  the  gate.  It  was  Sam  Sinclair's ;  and  in  the 
back  seat  were  his  two  sisters  and  his  cousin  Sylvia.  The 
three  young  ladies  alighted;  and  Janet  flew  to  the  gate  to 
meet  them,  shrieking  her  good  news. 

"Yes,  we're  coming  in,"  said  Miss  Lena,  in  answer  to 
Janet's  pressing  invitation.  "Sam  has  to  go  to  the  mill; 
and  we'll  have  a  little  visit  with  your  mother  till  he  gets 
back." 

They  all  sat  on  the  veranda,  their  pretty  su-mmer  dresses 
making  it  look  like  a  flower  garden ;  and  Janet  sat  at  Miss 
Lena's  feet,  and  looked  up  at  her  adoringly.  Her  glance 
sometimes  showed  a  loving  anxiety;  for  she  could  not  help 
feeling  that  Miss  Lena  looked  even  sadder  than  usual.  Per- 
haps her  low  spirits  came  from  the  grievous  fact  that  she 
was  not  to  be  one  of  the  berry-pickers.  There  was  too 
much  work  at  home  for  Mother,  she  said,  when  Janet  pro- 
tested; and  someone  must  stay  home  and  do  it.  Indeed, 


268  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Miss  Sylvia  seemed  the  only  one  who  was  very  happy.  She 
laughed  and  chatted,  and  played  with  Pepper,  as  she  sat 
in  the  hammock,  the  sunlight  through  the  vines  playing 
on  her  pretty  hat  and  her  shining  hair. 

Janet  was  sent  to  the  kitchen  for  lemonade;  and  Kirsty 
sent  out  the  second-best  glasses  and  the  kitchen  tray,  when 
she  heard  that  Sylvia  Ward  was  of  the  party.  Kirsty  did 
not  approve  of  Sylvia.  She  pronounced  her  too  light  and 
dressy  and  given  to  fol-de-rols. 

When  Janet  returned  with  the  tray  Mr.  Balfour  was 
there,  sitting  on  the  steps  at  Miss  Sylvia's  feet.  He  had 
just  returned  from  the  Post  Office,  and  had  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand. 

"There's  no  doubt  the  ministers  of  Algonquin  have  a 
spite  at  me ;  or  they  wouldn't  have  called  me  to  this  meeting 
to-morrow,"  he  was  saying. 

"Don't  go,"  advised  Sylvia.  "Those  troublesome  parsons 
will  be  foregathering  all  next  winter,  when  there  are  no 
berries  to  pick;  and  you  can  go  and  have  protracted  meet- 
ings with  them." 

He  smiled  up  at  her.  In  Sylvia's  presence  it  was  hard 
to  take  life  seriously. 

"But  I  must,"  he  declared,  looking  resolutely  away.  "I 
can  get  home  in  time  to  go  out  to  the  woods  for  supper. 
After  all,  that's  the  important  part — isn't  it,  Janet?  Why, 
Janet !"  he  turned  to  the  little  girl  in  dismay.  "What  about 
Janet?"  he  asked,  looking  towards  her  mother. 

Janet  was  looking  at  him  as  if  he  had  announced  that  he 
was  going  to  India  that  very  moment,  never  to  return. 

"I  cannot  let  Janet  go,"  declared  Mrs.  Meldrum,  in  that 
tone  which  Janet  well  knew  was  final.  "I  could  never  trust 
her  away  alone  with  all  those  children." 

Janet  jumped  up  from  her  seat  on  the  steps. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  she  groaned  in  unbelieving  dismay,  "you 
surely  can't  mean  it." 

"I  would  let  her  go  if  you  were  going,  Lena,"  said  Mrs. 
Meldrum,  looking  very  worried.  "But  unless  some  grown 


LENNIE  STARTS  A  CHORUS         269 

person  were  directly  responsible  for  her,  I  could  not  think 
of  such  a  thing." 

Sylvia  Ward  looked  at  the  despairing  little  face.  "Poor 
Kiddy,  we  just  can't  leave  you  at  home,"  she  cried.  "I'll  be 
responsible  for  her,  Mrs.  Meldrum.  I'm  not  going  to  pick 
many  berries,  you  may  be  sure ;  and  Janet  and  I  will  stay 
on  the  edge  of  the  jungle  until  Mr.  Balfour  comes;  and  I'll 
hand  him  over  the  responsibility. 

Janet  flung  herself  upon  her  mother  with  entreaties  which 
she  could  not  resist.  "I  hesitate  to  burden  you,  Sylvia," 
Mrs.  Meldrum  said.  "Janet  is  so  heedless;  she  will  need 
to  be  kept  close  to  you  all  the  time.  But  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  grateful  I  am,  and  I  do  hope,"  she  added,  turning  to 
the  little  girl,  "that  you  will  be  very  good  and  not  trouble 
Miss  Sylvia.  Think  how  kind  she  is  to  offer  to  take  you." 

Janet  fairly  grovelled  to  Sylvia  in  the  extremity  of  her 
gratitude.  She  went  to  bed  that  night  thinking  that  she 
was  surely  the  most  fortunate  little  girl  in  the  world,  and 
that  if  Mr.  Balfour  and  Miss  Lena,  her  mother  and  Molly 
were  only  going  with  her,  life  would  have  nothing  more 
to  ask. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  LOST  SONG 

THE  day  set  for  the  berry-picking  was  a  perfect  mid- 
August  day.  There  was  a  sense  of  peace  in  the  warm 
air,  and  of  work  well  done.  Old  Mother  Earth  had  given 
her  children  a  bountiful  harvest;  and  now  she  lay  smiling 
in  the  sunshine,  enjoying  a  well-earned  rest. 

The  long  morning  shadows  of  the  mountain  ash  trees 
still  stretched  across  the  lawns;  and  the  dew  lay  heavy  on 
the  golden-rod,  when  the  berry-pickers  left  the  village. 

Those  who  went  in  buggies  started  while  the  pink  dawn 
was  beginning  to  kindle  over  the  hills ;  and  everyone  said 
that  the  stars  were  still  shining  when  the  Kelly  wagon  clat- 
tered down  the  street  and  away  out  into  the  dewy  country. 

Janet  had  worn  the  gate  almost  off  its  hinges,  when  at 
last  the  Sinclair  car  stopped  before  the  house  and  bore  her 
away.  She  sat  in  the  front  seat  with  Sam,  and  teetered 
up  and  down  with  ecstasy  at  each  new  beauty  of  the  road. 
For  the  summer  highway  was,  for  Janet,  filled  with  as 
much  interest  and  variety  as  Broadway  to  the  devotee  of 
the  city.  The  golden-rod  and  the  aster  fringed  the  way- 
side; the  black-eyed  Susans,  and  the  flaming  fire-weed 
brightened  the  fence  corners ;  and  the  stately  mullen  stalks, 
summer's  golden  candlesticks,  lit  up  the  path  by  the  road. 

Many  of  the  fields  were  shorn  smooth  and  brown,  and 
their  bounty  packed  away  into  barns.  But  here  and  there 
a  harvester  rode  on  his  humming  binder;  and  the  grain 
swayed  and  writhed  and  fell  before  his  advance. 

The  golden-winged  flickers  shouted  and  drummed  in  the 
tree-tops;  the  squirrels  shot  along  the  fences;  the  broad- 
winged  hawk  soared  over  the  brown  fields,  alert,  watching ; 

270 


THE  LOST  SONG  271 

and  the  bright  little  goldfinches  sailed  the  amber  air,  in 
their  pretty  waving  motion,  singing  "Bay-bee!  Bay-bee!" 
sweet  and  clear. 

The  Kelly  wagon  was  half-way  up  the  last,  long,  wind- 
ing hill,  when  the  Sinclair  car  went  storming  past  it.  They 
had  stopped  to  rest  the  heaving,  old  horse  where  a  spring 
bubbled  out  of  the  hillside ;  and  all  the  Kelly  children  were 
paddling  in  the  cool  little  stream. 

Janet  stood  up  and  shouted  to  Bud  as  she  whirled  past. 
She  envied  the  Kellys  quite  frankly.  It  must  be  so  much 
more  fun  to  walk  up  the  hill  as  Bud  and  Rosie  were  doing; 
and  to  scramble  up  the  cliff  for  flowers ;  and  drink  out  of 
the  crystal  spring  that  was  tumbling  out  among  the  ferns. 
And  the  Kellys  looked  after  Janet,  riding  past  in  the  car 
that  slipped  up  the  hill  so  easily,  and  envied  her;  which  is 
the  way  of  the  world. 

The  big  car  turned  off  the  road  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
ran  into  an  open,  grassy  space  that  lay  between  the  road 
and  the  woods.  Beyond  it  stretched  a  wild  tangle  of  under- 
brush and  briars,  stumps  and  fallen  trees,  shrubs  and  vines, 
tall  trees  and  huge  rocks,  all  tumbled  together  in  glorious 
confusion,  as  though  some  frolicsome  giant  had  made  the 
place  his  playground. 

Parties  began  to  arrive  by  twos  and  threes.  The  cars 
and  buggies  were  drawn  up  to  one  side;  the  horses  were 
unhitched;  pails  and  cups  rattled  merrily;  and  the  wilder- 
ness rang  with  gay  voices. 

Before  entering  the  green  tangle  of  underbrush,  the  chil- 
dren were  all  warned  solemnly  not  to  stray  away.  The 
"Patch"  covered  many  acres,  and  below  the  hill  it  merged 
into  a  great  swamp  that  stretched  on  and  on,  some  said,  as 
far  as  the  Georgian  Bay.  It  was  a  place  where  it  would 
be  easy  to  lose  oneself;  and  the  Kellys  were  admonished 
by  their  mother  not  to  dare  to  get  out  of  her  sight,  or  she'd 
go  home  and  leave  them  to  be  lost  forever. 

A  tall  blackened  stump  was  chosen  as  ihe  centre  of  the 
camp ;  and  Tim  Kelly  swarmed  up  it ;  and  tied  his  mother's 
old  shawl  around  it.  It  was  bright  red ;  and  made  a  stand- 


272  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

ard  which  everyone  was  warned  to  note;  and  from  which 
all  were  to  get  their  bearings. 

At  first  there  was  no  need  for  any  landmarks;  for  the 
berries  were  plentiful  at  the  edge  of  the  patch ;  and  during 
the  forenoon  no  one  went  far  beyond  the  green  glade  where 
the  camp  was  established. 

The  young  people  gathered  about  Sylvia  Ward ;  and  just 
as  naturally,  the  children  collected  around  Janet.  All  her 
especial  friends  were  there;  Nellie  and  Kitty,  and  Susie 
Beckett,  Lennie  and  Bud,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Kellys,  ex- 
cept Molly.  Janet  was  sure  this  was  the  most  glorious  time 
she  had  ever  experienced ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  ham- 
pering fact  that  she  had  to  keep  an  eye  on  Miss  Sylvia, 
and  that  Miss  Sylvia  had  to  keep  an  eye  on  her,  she  would 
surely  have  gone  wild  with  delight. 

The  youngsters  picked  a  few  berries;  but  they  were  too 
busy  to  devote  much  time  to  this  rather  dull  sport.  Play- 
ing hide-and-seek  was  the  favourite  pastime.  The  berry 
patch  seemed  constructed  for  that  very  purpose;  for  your 
companion  might  be  right  under  the  pail  into  which  you 
were  putting  your  berries,  and  you  would  know  nothing 
about  it.  And  it  was  glorious  fun  hiding  and  jumping 
out  suddenly  to  scare  everybody. 

The  Kelly  boys  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  with  Lennie.  Poor 
Lennie  had  been  warned  so  thoroughly  by  his  mother  and 
sisters  against  getting  lost  that  he  was  afraid  to  step  into 
the  underbrush,  for  fear  he  might  never  emerge.  He  and 
Janet  were  alone  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  little  green  nook, 
and  while  Lennie  was  talking,  she  dropped  silently  behind 
a  log.  He  turned  to  her  for  an  answer,  and  found  himself 
alone.  "Janet!"  he  screamed  sharply.  "Where  are  you?" 
And  when  Janet  leaped  out  at  him,  he  screamed  louder  than 
ever. 

"Oh,  Janet!"  he  cried  with  a  shiver,  "you're  awful!  I 
don't  know  which  scares  me  most,  to  lose  you,  or  to  find 
you!" 

He  lost  and  found  so  many  of  his  mischievous  companions 
in  the  same  manner  so  often  that  he  was  ready  to  die  of 


THE  LOST  SONG  273 

nervousness.  And  at  last  Janet  took  pity  on  him,  and 
managed  to  turn  the  tide  of  popular  interest  toward  swing- 
ing by  the  limbs  of  the  trees  from  rock  to  rock,  monkey 
fashion. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  everyone  had  been  eating  berries 
all  forenoon,  they  were  all  ravenous  for  dinner.  Kelly 
senior  erected  a  tripod  and  slung  upon  it  a  huge  cauldron 
that  had  been  brought  from  Gibbie  Gibson's  sugar  camp. 
It  was  soon  boiling  and  giving  out  the  fragrance  of  hot 
coffee.  Mrs.  Beckett  and  Mrs.  Caldwell  put  away  their 
berry  pails  in  a  shady  nook,  and  spread  long  white  table- 
cloths upon  the  grass.  Everyone  brought  out  her  basket; 
and  soon  there  was  such  an  array  of  salads,  and  cold 
chicken,  and  pink  slices  of  ham,  and  ripe  tomatoes,  and 
muskmelons,  and  watermelons,  and  bread  and  biscuits, 
and  cake,  and  pie,  as  made  all  the  young  Kellys  groan  aloud 
over  their  limited  capacity. 

Just  as  they  had  seated  themselves  upon  the  grass  in  long 
rows  before  the  table-cloth,  and  Mrs.  Beckett  had  begun  to 
pour  the  coffee,  there  came  a  great  honking  and  roaring 
from  the  road.  A  cloud  of  dust  arose  on  the  hill-top,  and 
a  long  grey  car  came  whirling  out  of  it  and  drew  up  on 
the  grass.  Janet  uttered  a  little  squeal  of  delight,  and  all 
the  little  Kellys  jumped  up  from  the  table  and  yelled.  For 
there  on  the  front  seat  of  the  handsome  car,  sitting  up  like 
the  greatest  lady  in  the  land,  was  Molly;  and  by  her  side 
the  big,  stout  man  Janet  remembered  having  seen  when  he 
brought  Miss  Sylvia  to  the  Castle. 

He  got  out  of  the  car  and  came  right  over  to  the  table, 
and  asked  if  they  would  take  a  couple  of  tramps  for  dinner. 
And  Miss  Sylvia  laughed  and  flushed  prettily,  as  she  made 
a  place  for  him  between  her  and  Marjorie  Gillespie. 

Molly  squeezed  in  between  Janet  and  Bud,  and  taking 
the  baby  on  her  lap,  explained  the  miracle  of  her  coming. 
It  was  all  that  lovely  Mr.  Hilton's  doings,  and  Lena's. 
Molly  was  quite  one  of  the  Sinclair  family  now,  and  called 
them  all  by  their  first  names.  She  could  not  come  to  the 
berry-picking  in  the  morning,  because  she  had  to  help  do 


274  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Sylvia's  washing.  And  she  and  Lena  were  just  finishing 
it,  when  along  came  Mr.  Hilton  in  his  car;  and  he  was  so 
disappointed  when  he  found  that  Sylvia  was  gone  that  he 
begged  Lena  to  come  with  him  and  show  him  the  way  to 
the  berry-patch.  But  she  could  not  come  because  there  was 
so  much  to  do,  so  she  sent  Molly  instead.  And  Mr.  Hilton 
was  the  very  kindest  gentleman  in  the  world.  He  gave  her 
a  big  box  of  candy.  She  had  left  it  in  the  car  under  her 
coat;  but  Buddy  could  get  it  when  dinner  was  over.  And 
they  had  had  the  loveliest  drive  on  the  way  out;  and  he 
had  promised  to  take  her  and  Rosie  to  Algonquin  some  day, 
and  take  them  to  see  the  picture  show !  And  she  had 
brought  a  pail,  and  Lena  said  she  was  to  pick  berries  for 
Ma;  and  Ma  was  to  sit  in  the  shade  with  Corny  and  not 
do  a  thing  all  day.  Ma  smiled  her  toothless  smile  upon 
her  girl,  and  said  it  was  the  darling  that  Lena  Sinclair 
was  to  be  sure.  They  all  went  back  to  the  berry-picking, 
when  the  dinner  was  over,  Molly  the  centre  of  the  children's 
group,  and  the  wild  stretches  of  the  jungle  rang  with  their 
voices,  and  everyone  was  happier  than  ever. 

That  is,  everyone  except  Sylvia  Ward.  She  had  suddenly 
grown  quiet;  and  whenever  there  came  the  sound  of  a  car 
from  the  hidden  road,  she  listened  anxiously  and  looked 
worried.  Indeed,  Janet  felt  that  Miss  Sylvia  did  not  seem 
to  be  having  such  a  good  time  as  she  had  had  in  the  morn- 
ing; and  she  was  sure  that  Mr.  Hilton  did  not  like  picking 
berries  at  all.  And  then  Fred  Gillespie  and  John  Gibbie, 
and  Willie  Gibson's  Willie  went  off  and  left  her,  and  picked 
berries  with  Marjorie  Gillespie  and  the  Beckett  girls.  True 
to  her  pledge,  Janet  kept  close  to  her  guardian;  and  for 
some  time  the  children  kept  near  Janet,  laughing  and  calling 
to  each  other  over  the  bushes,  and  playing  hide-and-seek. 
But  she  soon  began  to  find  her  position  a  difficult  one.  It 
was  not  because  Janet  felt  herself  a  third  party,  but  be- 
cause there  was  not  a  fourth  party  and  a  fifth.  Janet 
loved  the  crowd ;  and  she  began  to  feel  it  slipping  away 
from  her.  It  was  impossible  to  keep  anyone  in  sight  long, 
where  the  bushes  grew  high  above  your  head.  And  Mr. 


THE  LOST  SONG  275 

Hilton  seemed  to  be  always  straying  away,  and  leading 
Miss  Sylvia  and  her  with  him. 

They  wandered  some  distance  from  the  edge  of  the  woods ; 
and  Janet  soon  found  that  she  had  lost  all  her  little  com- 
panions. Mr.  Hilton  and  Miss  Sylvia  sat  down  on  a  mossy 
log;  and  Janet  listlessly  ate  a  few  berries,  and  listened  to 
the  joyous  shrieks  growing  more  distant,  and  unhappy  pris- 
oner, chained  by  a  sense  of  duty  to  a  pair  of  unwilling 
balls. 

Mr.  Hilton  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face,  and 
said  this  was  the  dickens  of  a  place  to  bring  a  fellow.  And 
Miss  Sylvia  laughed,  and  said  the  fellow  should  have  left 
himself  at  home. 

"Don't  you  want  to  go  for  a  spin  in  the  car  ?  We'll  come 
back  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said  suddenly.  "And  little  Grey 
Eyes  can  stay  with  the  others."  Miss  Sylvia  demurred ;  she 
oughtn't  to  leave  the  others.  Beside,  she  had  promised  to 
look  after  Janet;  and  she  just  adored  picking  berries,  any- 
way. 

There  was  some  low  talk  after  that,  which  Janet  did 
not  hear ;  but  at  last  Miss  Sylvia  arose  from  the  log. 

"Janet,  dear,  would  you  stay  with  Marjorie  and  Nellie 
or  someone  else,  while  I  go  for  a  little  ride  ?"  she  asked. 

Janet  made  no  attempt  to  hide  her  joy.  If  they  were 
waiting  for  her  permission,  she  felt,  she  would  have  advised 
them  to  go  riding  in  the  car  all  day. 

"Oh,  won't  that  be  lovely,"  she  cried,  with  unflattering 
honesty.  "May  I  stay  with  Bud?  He's  just  over  there 
behind  that  sumach." 

"Yes,  dear,  stay  wherever  you  like,"  said  Miss  Sylvia 
easily,  "only  don't  wander  away,  will  you  ?  You'd  better  go 
to  Molly." 

Janet  promised,  as  she  would  have  promised  anything 
in  her  excess  of  gratitude. 

"Well,  run  along,  then,"  said  Miss  Sylvia,  laughing  at 
her  eagerness,  "and  let  me  see  you  anchored  before  I 
start." 

"Here,  take  this  box  of  candy,  kiddy,"  said  Mr.  Hilton, 


276  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"and  divide  it  up  among  the  kids."  Janet  took  it,  feeling 
that  Molly's  opinion  of  the  kind  gentleman  was  her  own. 
And,  with  the  box  in  one  hand  'and  her  little  tin  pail  in 
the  other,  she  scrambled  over  the  big  log  and  disappeared 
behind  some  bushes. 

"Hoo,  hoo,  Molly!"  she  called  joyfully,  "I'm  coming!" 
A  faint  shout  answered  her. 

"Molly's  just  over  there,  Miss  Sylvia,"  Janet  called  back. 
And  Miss  Sylvia's  lovely  musical  voice  answered,  "All 
right;  bye,  bye!"  And  she  and  the  owner  of  the  car 
scrambled  away  towards  the  open  glade. 

But  neither  Bud  nor  Molly  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  sumach  clump.  The  pink  sun-bonnet  that  had  deceived 
Janet  belonged  to  Minnie  MacKay,  who  was  picking  berries 
with  her  mother.  "Where's  Molly?"  cried  Janet,  coming 
up  to  them.  "I  thought  you  were  her,  Minnie." 

"She  was  here  a  min'it  ago ;  she's  just  gone  over  there  to 
tim  her  pail  into  her  Ma's,"  said  Minnie  with  a  nod  in  a 
vague  direction.  "I'm  racin'  Susie  Beckett,"  she  mumbled, 
as  an  excuse  for  her  brevity. 

This  was  a  fine  idea,  Janet  thought.  She  would  find  Bud 
and  race  with  him.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  a  Kelly  any- 
where, so  she  raised  her  voice. 

"Hd,  Bu-ttd!    Where  are  you?" 

"Here !"  cried  Bud's  little  piping  voice,  apparently  just  on 
the  other  side  of  a  clump  of  trees. 

"Have  you  got  many?"  called  Janet. 

"No,  haven't  any!  I've  just  been  and  timmed  mine  into 
Ma's  pail!" 

"Mine's  empty,  too!"  shouted  Janet.  "I'll  race  you!" 
And  with  that  she  leaped  over  a  fallen  log  and  attacked  a 
berry  bush  furiously.  It  was  a  wonderful  bush ;  it  seemed 
that  there  were  gallons  of  berries  hanging  on  it.  Janet  fairly 
rained  the  little  purple  spheres  into  her  pail. 

Suddenly  Bud's  thin  voice  rose  again,  this  time  farther 
away. 

"Have  you  found  a  good  patch,  Jinny?" 

Janet  giggled  softly  and  crouched  down  until  the  big 


THE  LOST  SONG  277 

branches  were  arched  over  her  head.  She  knew  that  trick 
by  this  time — to  let  someone  find  a  splendid  bush  and  then 
come  and  take  the  berries  all  away ! 

Bud's  voice  grew  fainter;  and  she  resumed  her  work  in 
laughing  silence.  But  the  big  bush  did  not  fill  the  pail  after 
all;  instead,  as  she  crawled  out  from  under  it,  it  unkindly 
caught  hold  of  her  braid,  and  held  her  fast.  It  took  a  long 
time  and  a  good  many  painful  pulls  to  free  herself;  but 
she  was  encouraged  by  immediately  spying  an  abundant 
harvest  a  few  yards  away. 

She  heard  voices,  calling,  calling  on  every  side;  and  the 
scrambling,  tearing  sound  that  told  there  were  people  mov- 
ing near.  She  went  on  happily,  from  bush  to  bush,  deter- 
mined not  to  disclose  her  whereabouts  to  Bud,  until  she 
had  filled  her  pail.  The  process  took  much  longer  than  she 
had  thought.  She  found  the  box  of  candy  hampered  her; 
so  she  placed  it  upon  a  stump  and  redoubled  her  efforts. 
The  abundant  harvest  did  not  repeat  itself  for  some  time; 
she  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  place  where  there  were  no 
berries;  and  she  moved  on  faster  in  search  of  another 
generous  bush.  She  had  gone  far  into  the  green  tangle; 
the  voices  of  the  other  pickers  had  grown  indistinct ;  the 
green  stillness  was  very  lovely.  She  was  hearing  birds 
she  had  never  heard  before.  She  wished  she  had  let  Bud 
find  her,  so  he  would  tell  her  their  names.  Sweet,  new 
voices  they  were,  ringing  softly  through  the  green  and 
golden  silence. 

She  wandered  happily  on ;  and  at  last  another  bush,  hung 
thickly  with  purple  jewels,  rewarded  her  search.  It  filled 
the  little  pail,  heaping  it  up,  until  she  found  it  necessary 
to  eat  the  big  luscious  berry  that  toppled  off  the  conical 
pile. 

"Hi,  Bud !"  she  shouted  triumphantly,  "I  beat  you !" 

There  was  no  answer  from  Bud,  and  Janet  giggled.  His 
pail  wasn't  full,  and,  of  course,  he  wouldn't  answer.  So, 
holding  her  burden  carefully,  she  started  back.  And  then, 
for  the  first  time,  a  question  came,  where  was  "back"? 


278  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

Where  was  Bud?  And  where  was  the  stump  where  she 
had  left  the  box  of  candy  ? 

Oh,  yes,  there  it  was,  away  over  there,  beyond  that  lovely 
bed  of  touch-me-not.  She  saw  the  gleam  of  the  white  paper 
cover.  She  stumbled  towards  it;  but  it  seemed  much  far- 
ther away  than  she  had  thought;  the  tangle  of  briars  and 
shrubs  seemed  to  grow  worse.  She  reached  it  at  last;  and 
was  astonished  to  find  that  the  white  object  was  not  the 
box  of  candy,  but  a  beautiful  big  fungus  growth  on  the  side 
of  a  rotten  stump.  Janet  stood  admiring  it  for  some  time. 
It  was  a  lovely  thing:  polished  and  lacquered,  brown  wood 
on  the  upper  side;  and  on  the  lower,  exquisite,  pure  white 
velvet.  She  determined  she  would  bring  Bud  here;  and 
they  would  take  it  home  for  their  play  house  in  the  orchard. 

She  looked  about  her  again  for  the  stump  that  held  the 
candy  box.  Oh,  now  she  remembered.  It  was  just  on  the 
other  side  of  that  cedar  clump,  of  course.  She  went  leap- 
ing and  scrambling  towards  it,  and  was  a  little  surprised  to 
find  that  she  had  to  pass  a  huge  rock  to  get  to  it.  She  did 
not  remember  that  there  was  a  rock  so  big  in  all  the  berry 
patch.  She  clambered  hurriedly  around  it,  a  little  anxious 
lest  Bud  have  his  pail  full  before  she  returned.  But  the 
other  side  of  the  rock  and  the  ceda'r  clump  both  failed  to 
reveal  the  white  box.  Perhaps  Bud  or  Lennie  had  been 
watching  her;  and  had  come  and  taken  it  away  for  a  joke. 
Janet  grew  indignant  at  the  very  thought.  She  climbed 
upon  a  big  log  and  looked  about  her ;  the  view  showed  her 
the  familiar  little  sumach  grove  where  Mrs.  Kelly  had  been 
left  sitting  with  Corny,  and  the  filled  pails.  She  leaped 
down  joyfully;  and  tore  her  way  towards  it  through  the 
tangle,  getting  her  hair  caught  again  and  again,  and  spilling 
some  of  her  precious  berries.  She  reached  the  sumachs  at 
last  and  stopped,  completely  puzzled.  There  were  no  pails 
there,  and  no  baby,  and  no  Mrs.  Kelly!  Janet  was  just  a 
little  disconcerted ;  she  did  not  dream  how  far  she  had  wan- 
dered from  her  friends;  but  she  suddenly  remembered 
her  mother's  warnings  and  the  stories  Lennie  had  told  her 
of  the  terrors  of  the  woods. 


THE  LOST  SONG  279 

But  she  was  not  frightened  yet;  she  had  a  comfortable 
feeling  that  her  friends  were  all  around  her.  She  would 
not  have  been  the  least  surprised  if  Bud  had  leaped  from 
behind  the  bush  right  beside  her,  as  he  had  been  doing  all 
morning.  Indeed,  she  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  watch- 
ing her  right  now  from  behind  a  stone  or  stump,  to  see  if 
she  would  get  scared  when  she  was  left  alone  like  Lennie. 
Just  to  be  sure  she  called : 

"Ah,  ha,  Mr.  Bud!  I  know  you're  there;  you  needn't 
try  to  hide!"  But  a  loud  scornful  caw,  from  a  huge  old 
crow,  away  up  on  the  top  of  a  tall,  blackened  stump  was 
the  only  answer. 

It  reminded  Janet  suddenly  of  the  stump  with  Mrs. 
Kelly's  shawl  hanging  from  it  like  a  red  banner;  and  she 
climbed  upon  a  mossy  stone  and  looked  around  for  it.  But 
the  trees  here  were  so  tall,  and  their  branches  so  thick  and 
intertwined  that  she  could  see  only  a  few  yards  ahead,  and 
a  small  round  patch  of  blue  sky  above.  The  sunshine  was 
pouring  through  the  branches ;  the  little  birds  were  singing ; 
and  there  seemed  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about;  but  Janet 
began  to  feel  anxious.  Everything  familiar  seemed  to  have 
left  her.  She  noticed  with  a  throb  of  her  heart  that  she 
did  not  hear  the  sound  of  voices  any  more.  She  called 
sharply,  "Bud!"  and  louder,  "Molly!"  "Nellie!"  f  But 
there  was  no  answer. 

She  hurried  on ;  each  new  stump  seeming  to  be  the  one 
where  she  had  left  the  box,  each  new  clump  of  cedar  the 
one  where  she  would  surely  find  Bud.  She  stopped  at  last 
really  frightened  and  called  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  and 
then  stood  listening.  The  unanswering  silence  brought  a 
terrible  sense  of  desolation.  There  was  not  a  sign  nor  sound 
of  humanity  anywhere.  Janet  looked  around  her,  and  was 
suddenly  seized  with  panic.  She  was  lost !  She  realised  it 
in  one  overwhelming  moment.  It  seemed  as  if  all  her 
friends  must  have  gone  back  to  Cherry  Hill  and  left  her 
in  this  dreadful  place,  so  long  did  it  seem  since  she  had 
seen  anyone.  For  a  moment  she  stood,  breathless  with 
dread ;  and  then  she  gave  a  long  loud  call  for  help. 


280  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

"Molly!"  she  screamed.  "Bud!  Miss  Sylvia!" 
And  then,  oh,  blessed  sound,  she  heard  a  faint  halloo. 
She  thought  it  came  from  the  direction  in  which  she  had 
been  going;  and  she  shouted  an  answer  and  plunged  for- 
ward. She  stopped  and  called  again,  but  only  the  dread 
silence  and  the  loud  thumping  of  her  own  heart  answered. 
The  tears  came  streaming  down  her  face  so  that  she  could 
not  see  her  way;  but  she  stumbled  blindly  forward.  The 
little  pail  of  berries  slipped  from  her  grasp  and  went 
hurtling  down  a  steep  rock.  She  took  no  heed,  but  ran  on 
and  on,  crying  and  calling,  and  ever  getting  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  SONGLESS  NIGHT 

HUGH  BALFOUR  hurried  home  from  town,  hoping  to 
reach  the  berry-patch  in  time  for  tea.  He  had  been 
deeply  disappointed  at  the  loss  of  this  long  summer  day  in 
the  woods  with  Sylvia;  and  his  disappointment  was  not 
lessened  by  meeting,  on  his  way  to  town,  a  long  grey  car, 
speeding  along  the  road  to  Cherry  Hill. 

The  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  were  stretching  from  hill 
top  to  hill  top,  and  the  valleys  were  growing  purple  in  the 
shadows,  when  he  turned  his  little  car,  smoking  from  the 
long  climb,  into  the  green  glade  on  the  edge  of  the  berry 
patch.  The  long  white  tablecloths  had  been  spread  on  the 
grass  again  and  supper  was  almost  ready. 

Sam  Sinclair,  mounted  on  a  stump,  was  beating  a  loud 
tattoo  on  the  bottom  of  a  tin  pail  with  an  iron  spoon; 
and  at  the  welcome  summons  the  tired  berry-pickers  were 
coming  out  of  the  jungle,  tearing  their  way  through  the 
briars,  brown  and  scratched  and  happy,  each  bearing  his 
purple  harvest.  There  was  a  great  babel  of  laughing  voices, 
a  clatter  of  plates  and  cups,  and  over  all  the  delightful  odor 
of  burning  cedar  and  frying  bacon.  The  young  minister 
was  hailed  joyfully  from  all  sides. 

"Ye're  jist  in  time,  Mr.  Balfour,"  shouted  Mrs.  Beckett, 
from  the  flat-topped  stump,  where  she  was  cutting  huge 
slices  of  snowy  bread,  and  Sarah  Kennedy  was  spreading 
them  with  golden  butter. 

Over  in  a  little  hollow,  where  the  cauldron  hung  above 
the  fire,  Fred  Gillespie  and  Sylvia  Ward  were  quarreling 
merrily  over  the  placing  of  the  frying  pan.  She  had  donned 
a  crimson  knitted  jacket,  for  the  evening  was  growing  cool ; 


282  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

and  She  looked  like  a  lovely  fair-haired  gipsy  in  the  light 
of  the  dancing  flames.  She  greeted  the  young  minister 
radiantly,  as  he  approached  the  fire. 

"Here  you  are  at  last!"  she  cried,  and  then  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "How  too  bad  that  you  should  have  missed  so 
much  of  this  glorious  day!" 

His  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  adjusted  the  pan  for 
her  over  the  flames.  Her  words  were  light;  but  her  voice 
held  a  new  note  that  set  his  heart  beating  faster. 

"I'm  afraid  the  day  didn't  miss  me,  though,"  he  answered 
boldly,  "I  met  a  car  this  morning,  breaking  all  the  Ontario 
speed  limits,  and  looking  as  if  it  were  heading  straight  for 
a  berry-patch." 

She  looked  around  with  an  exaggerated  air  of  interest. 
"How  disappointing!  It's  not  here.  I'm  afraid  it  must 
have  had  that  fatal  blowout  that's  been  threatening  it  for 
so  long." 

She  looked  at  him  with  dancing  eyes,  expecting  him  to 
catch  eagerly  at  her  meaning.  She  did  not  intend  to  tell 
him  just  yet,  though.  She  would  not  let  him  know  for  a 
while  that  she  had  that  day  dismissed  the  grey  car  forever. 
She  must  have  some  concessions  from  him  first.  But  when 
he  asked  her  to  ride  home  with  him,  which  he  certainly 
would  do,  then,  she  might 

But  before  he  could  reply  a  noisy  crowd  of  youngsters 
came  tumbling  out  of  the  berry-patch.  His  eyes  lit  up. 

"Where's  Janet  ?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"Janet?  Oh,  dear,  I  forgot  all  about  her.  She  hasn't 
been  with  me  for  quite  a  while.  I  handed  her  over  to  the 
Kellys;  and  I've  no  doubt  they're  all  up  a  tree  by  this 
time." 

She  was  a  little  disconcerted  by  the  look  of  pained  sur- 
prise that  passed  over  his  face.  She  was  hurt,  too,  that 
he  should  have  shown  so  little  attention  to  what  she  had 
been  saying.  She  had  given  up  a  great  deal  for  him  that 
day;  and  she  felt  he  ought  to  have  sensed  it.  But  instead 
of  looking  at  her,  he  called  to  Nellie,  who  was  racing  past, 
her  arms  full  of  flowers. 


A  SONGLESS  NIGHT  283 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour,"  she  cried  running  up  to  him,  "look 
at  all  the  lovely  touch-me-nots  Rosie  and  I  got!  Look  at 
them  jump !"  She  screamed  with  laughter,  as  she  touched 
a  little  green  pod  and  saw  it  fly  to  pieces. 

"They're  very  pretty ;  where's  Janet,  Nellie  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  just  looking  for  her.  Didn't  she  go 
with  you,  Sylvia,  in  the  car?" 

"In  the  car?"  Hugh  Balfour  turned  enquiringly  to  the 
pretty  gipsy.  There  was  no  smile  on  his  face  now. 

"No,  Janet  wasn't  with  me,"  she  said  rather  shortly. 
"Molly  had  charge  of  her  for  most  of  the  afternoon." 

Just  then  Molly  came  out  from  the  green  shadows  of  the 
trees,  her  bent  little  figure  staggering  under  a  heavy  load 
of  berries,  and  surrounded  by  small  Kellys,  all  turned  a 
deep  purple. 

"Is  Janet  with  you,  Molly?"  asked  the  young  minister. 
Molly  looked  about  her. 

"No,  Mr.  Balfour,  Janet  hasn't  been  with  me  all  after- 
noon." Sylvia  gave  an  exclamation,  half  startled,  half 
annoyed. 

"Why,  Molly !  Janet  went  to  you  early  in  the  afternoon, 
when  I  went  for  a  little  ride,"  she  declared  sharply. 

Molly  shook  her  head  wondering.  "No,  she  didn't.  I 
haven't  seen  Janet  for  ever  so  long.  We  were  all  calling 
her.  Was  she  with  you,  Bud?" 

No,  Bud  hadn't  seen  her  either  for  a  long  time.  He 
wanted  her  to  pick  with  him  and  Tim,  but  she  said  she 
couldn't  leave  Sylvia. 

"Maybe  she's  with  Lennie,"  cried  Nellie,  looking  over 
towards  the  table  spread  on  the  grass. 

Mr.  Balfour  turned  and  walked  over  towards  Mrs.  Cald- 
well.  The  little  cloud  that  had  threatened  so  often  to 
obscure  his  happiness,  but  which  he  had  persistently  refused 
to  recognise,  was  spreading  rapidly  over  his  bright  sky. 

"Well,  well,  Mr.  Balfour,"  called  Mrs.  Caldwell  heartily. 
"We  were  just  saying  we  wished  you  would  come.  Supper 
is  nearly  ready." 

"Is  Janet  with  you,  Mrs.  Caldwell?"  he  asked,  looking 


284  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

around.  Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  down  at  Lennie  for  answer. 
He  was  sitting  beside  the  tablecloth,  waiting  miserably,  in 
a  state  of  semi-starvation,  for  the  supper  to  start. 

"Janet  went  away  with  Sylvia  Ward,"  Lennie  volun- 
teered aggrievedly.  "That  gentleman  that  came  at  dinner 
time  with  the  big  car  took  them  for  a  ride ;  and  Janet  wasn't 
with  us  at  all.  It  wasn't  fair  for  them  to  quit  picking  and 
go  off  riding  like  that ;  do  you  think  it  was,  Mr.  Balf our  ?" 

But  Mr.  Balfour  did  not  answer.  A  sense  of  uneasiness 
was  possessing  him.  All  Janet's  little  companions  were  ac- 
counted for;  but  where  was  Janet?  He  walked  across  the 
green,  taking  an  inventory  of  all  the  berry-pickers.  As 
he  came  near  the  fire  again,  Sylvia,  the  centre  of  a  laughing 
group,  was  stirring  a  pail  of  tea  with  a  long  stick  and 
singing, 

"Double,  double,  toil  and  trouble, 
Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble." 

He  heard  a  quick  light  footfall  behind  him;  and  turned 
in  swift  relief,  expecting  Janet  to  throw  herself  upon  him. 
But  it  was  little  Bud  Kelly.  He  looked  up  at  the  tall  man, 
his  eyes  big  with  apprehension. 

"Mr.  Balfour,"  he  whispered,  "where's  Janet?  I've 
hunted,  and  hunted,  and  called,  and  called ;  and  I  can't  find 
her  anywhere!" 

"She's  probably  back  among  the  trees  with  someone  who 
hasn't  come  out  yet,"  he  answered  with  a  sudden  sinking 
of  his  heart.  "Come  with  me,  and  we'll  look  for  her." 

John  Gibbie  came  away  from  the  fire  and  joined  them. 
"You  don't  think  it's  possible,"  the  young  man  began. 

"No;  there's  no  need  for  alarm  yet.  But  I  must  see 
if  everyone  is  here." 

Hugh  Balfour  jumped  upon  a  stump  that  stood  near; 
and  silenced  everyone  with  a  great  halloo. 

"Friends!"  he  shouted,  "we  want  to  be  sure  that  none 
of  our  party  is  missing.  I  haven't  seen  little  Janet  Meldrum 
yet.  Does  anyone  here  know  where  she  is?" 


A  SONGLESS  NIGHT  285 

There  was  a  sudden  silence ;  the  stillness  that  falls  when 
the  first  chill  of  fear  creeps  over  a  merry  crowd.  The 
young  minister  ran  his  eye  over  them  as  they  gathered 
round  him.  "Mrs.  Kelly?"  he  called.  Yes,  her  childer  were 
all  here,  she  responded  tremulously.  The  Becketts,  the 
Caldwells,  the  MacKays,  the  McDuffs,  all  the  Gibsons — 
no  one  was  missing.  But  no  one,  when  called  upon,  could 
tell  where  Janet  was. 

When  the  last  person  had  passed  in  review,  Hugh  Bal- 
four  turned  to  the  woods,  now  lying  silent  in  the  golden 
evening  light ;  he  put  his  fingers  between  his  teeth  and  gave 
the  shrill,  piercing  whistle,  which  Janet  would  recognise. 
Everybody  listened  breathlessly;  there  was  no  answer  from 
the  green  stillness.  Then  he  called,  "Janet!  Janet!"  and 
only  the  crows,  winging  their  way  across  the  wilderness 
towards  their  home,  answered. 

He  leaped  down  off  the  stump;  and,  with  a  couple  of 
strides,  he  was  in  front  of  Sylvia  Ward.  His  face  was 
pale ;  and  his  eyes  were  not  pleasant  for  the  careless  young 
woman  to  look  into;  but  his  voice  was  calm. 

"Miss  Ward,  will  you  please  tell  me  just  when  you  saw 
Janet  last?"  he  said. 

"I — I  don't  remember,"  she  faltered  for  a  moment;  but 
Sylvia  was  only  a  spoilt  child,  and  could  not  brook  a  hint 
of  blame.  She  went  on  with  something  of  defiance  in  her 
tone,  "Shortly  after  dinner  Mr.  Hilton  and  I  went  away 
for  a  little  ride  in  the  car — about  three  o'clock,  I  should 
think.  I  left  Janet  in  Molly's  charge.  Molly  must  know 
where  she  went." 

Molly  stepped  forward,  trembling  and  tearful.  "The 
last  I  saw  of  her  was  when  they  was  playing  hide-and-go- 
seek,  right  after  dinner,"  she  faltered,  "and  she  was  with 
Bud  and  Lennie.  Oh,  Sylvia,  you  never  told  me  I  was  to 
watch  Janet!" 

"I  sent  her  to  Molly  when  I  left,  and  she  called  back," 
Sylvia  looked  up  at  the  man  for  whom  she  had  that  day 
made  what  she  considered  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  her 
life;  and  the  expression  of  his  eyes  froze  the  paltry  ex- 


286  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

cuses  on  her  lips.  "I'm  very  sorry,"  she  faltered.  But  be- 
fore she  could  finish  he  had  turned  his  back  upon  her  and 
was  striding  towards  the  woods,  Bud  running  at  his  side, 
and  all  the  young  men  following. 

"Let  us  all  take  a  run  in  and  back,  for  about  ten  min- 
utes," he  cried,  "don't  go  far.  If  she  has  really  wan- 
dered away,  we  must  organise  a  thorough  search.  But 
she  may  have  fallen  asleep  somewhere.  Just  walk  around 
the  edge  of  the  woods  and  call.  No,  Bud,  my  man,  you 
stay  out  here ;  we  may  need  you  later." 

They  plunged  into  the  underbrush,  shouting  the  little 
girl's  name;  while,  their  supper  all  forgotten,  the  berry- 
pickers  crowded  together  and  waited  in  silence  broken  only 
by  Molly's  sobs. 

The  searchers  returned  with  grave  faces.  Fred  Gilles- 
pie  carried  an  unopened  box  of  candy. 

"That  was  Janet's,"  said  Sylvia,  shaken  out  of  her  self- 
interest.  "Mr.  Hilton  gave  it  to  her  just  as  we  left." 

Hugh  Balf  our  took  it.  There  were  marks  of  little  berry- 
stained  fingers  on  it.  The  sight  gave  his  heart  a  wrench. 
But  there  was  no  time  to  waste.  He  jumped  upon  a  stone 
and  gave  his  orders  sharp  and  quick. 

"Janet  may  not  be  very  far  away,"  he  cried,  "but  we 
must  lose  no  time  in  starting  after  her.  Fred,  you  take 
your  car  and  run  down  to  the  village.  Bring  every  lantern 
in  the  place,  and  bring  all  the  men,  too,  we  may  need  every- 
body. And  Mrs.  Caldwell  and  Mrs.  Beckett,  will  you  go 
with  Fred  and  stay  with  Mrs.  Meldrum;  we  may  be  back 
with  Janet  before  she  is  unduly  alarmed.  And  bring  every 
bit  of  firearms  you  can  collect,  too,  Fred,  and  hurry.  Mr. 
Kelly,  you  keep  up  a  big  fire.  Here,  you  boys  can  gather 
wood  for  him!" 

"Sam,  you  had  better  take  as  many  as  you  can  of  these 
ladies  and  the  little  ones  home,  when  they've  had  their 
supper;  there's  no  use  keeping  them  here;  and  we  may  be 
up  all  night."  He  ran  to  Fred  Gillespie,  as  the  young  man 
leaped  into  his  car.  "I'm  going  a  little  way  into  the  woods 


A  SONGLESS  NIGHT  287 

now,  Fred,"  he  cried.  "I'll  try  to  be  back  before  you  re- 
turn ;  and  drive  like  the  wind,  that's  a  good  fellow." 

He  turned  and  disappeared  once  more  into  the  woods,  sev- 
eral of  the  young  men  following  him.  He  did  not  look  at 
Sylvia  Ward,  as  he  passed  her  standing  shivering  over  the 
fire. 

The  little  boys  dashed  away  for  wood;  and  soon  a 
great  fire  was  leaping  and  crackling  and  sending  out  great 
shafts  of  light  into  the  darkening  woods,  now  ringing  with 
the  sound  of  Janet's  name. 

Just  as  the  darkness  had  become  complete,  the  searchers 
came  back,  scratched  and  torn  and  breathless  and  unsuc- 
cessful. At  the  same  moment  a  procession  of  cars  came 
roaring  up  the  hill,  bearing  every  able-bodied  man  from  the 
village,  and  many  from  the  surrounding  country.  Not  one 
of  the  berry-pickers  had  left,  except  those  who  had  gone 
on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  Mrs.  Meldrum ;  and  they  had  all 
returned,  bringing  her  with  them. 

Janet's  mother  sat  quietly  on  the  ground,  white-faced 
but  composed ;  and  held  poor  weeping  Molly's  head  in  her 
lap;  and  little  Bud  flung  himself  upon  the  ground  in  a 
corner  away  from  everyone,  and  sobbed  out  his  breaking 
heart,  refusing  to  be  comforted. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Kelly  Senior  found  him- 
self the  most  important  man  in  the  community.  He  had 
lived  most  of  his  life  in  the  woods,  and  knew  it  better  than 
he  knew  the  one  street  of  Cherry  Hill.  While  the  women 
hurriedly  handed  out  some  supper  to  the  men  who  had  not 
yet  taken  time  to  eat  anything,  he  organised  the  search 
parties,  giving  full  instructions  to  each. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  searchers  were  ready  and  had 
plunged  into  the  woods.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  the 
sound  of  their  voices  and  the  wavering  sight  of  their  lan- 
terns had  disappeared,  and  left  only  darkness  and  silence 
and  a  great  dread  over  those  who  could  do  nothing  but 
wait. 

And  all  through  that  night  of  waiting  Sylvia  Ward  sat 
beside  Janet's  mother,  silent  and  sick  at  heart.  She  had 


288  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

never  before  faced  a  hard  situation  in  all  her  happy  self- 
centred  life.  She  had  often  boasted  gayly  that  she  never 
would.  But  now  a  dread  calamity  stared  her  in  the  face :  a 
situation  brought  about  by  her  lifelong  habit  of  choosing 
always  the  easy,  pleasant  road.  And  to-night  the  easy 
way  was  not  hers  to  choose. 

It  was  midnight  when  Hugh  Balfour  and  his  companion, 
young  John  Gibbie,  found  themselves  coming  down  off  the 
dry,  stony  highlands  to  the  edge  of  the  deep  swamp.  Fear 
was  gripping  the  young  minister's  heart.  He  dared  not  let 
his  bitter  thoughts  go  forward  to  dwell  on  little  Janet, 
wandering  alone  in  the  wilderness,  nor  backward  to  the 
waiting  mother,  nor  the  young  woman  whose  selfish  care- 
lessness might  be  the  cause  of  an  overwhelming  calamity. 
He  had  plunged  forward  in  silence  all  the  night;  while  his 
young  companion  followed,  finding  it  difficult  to  keep  up 
with  him. 

There  had  been  just  one  bright  spot  in  the  darkness  of 
their  journey.  It  was  a  little  tin  pail,  lying  overturned  at 
the  foot  of  a  big  rock,  with  black-berries  scattered  about 
it;  and  in  the  soft  leaf-mould  the  track  of  little  feet.  Since 
they  had  found  them  they  had  stumbled  on  faster  than 
ever ;  but  they  had  come  to  the  soft  mud  of  the  swamp  now, 
and  they  would  have  to  move  slowly  and  carefully. 

Hugh  Balfour  leaped  upon  a  log,  flashing  his  light  far 
around  over  the  wild  beauty  of  tangled  vine,  and  under- 
growth, and  fallen  trees;  and  then  he  suddenly  gave  a 
great  shout,  and  John  Gibbie  sprang  to  his  side.  "Tracks !" 
he  yelled,  hoarsely.  There  were  Janet's  little  foot  marks 


again 


He  sprang  forward  from  log  to  log,  shouting,  "Janet' 
Ho!  Ho!  Janet!"  And  Janet,  only  a  few  rods  away 
down  the  dark  choked  aisle  of  the  forest,  heard  the  voice 
ringing  through  her  troubled  dream.  She  had  been  stopped 
in  her  terrified  flight  by  her  long  braid  of  hair.  It  had 
caught,  this  time  hopelessly,  in  a  clump  of  briars,  just  as 
she  was  scrambling  over  a  fallen  log.  All  her  frantic  efforts 
to  free  herself  had  been  in  vain ;  and  at  last,  in  despair  and 


A  SONGLESS  NIGHT  289 

utter  exhaustion,  she  had  fallen  into  a  troubled  doze,  her 
throbbing  head  half-supported  by  the  roots  of  the  tree. 
And  there  she  lay,  a  prisoner ;  held  back  from  plunging  into 
the  swamp  by  that  which  had  been  the  chief  trouble  of  her 
happy,  riotous  life. 

In  her  half  waking,  half  unconscious  condition  she  heard 
a  voice,  calling,  calling,  far,  far  away.  She  tried  to  answer 
its  insistent  command;  tried  to  rise  up  and  obey,  sobbing 
because  she  could  not.  And  then,  a  dazzling  light  seemed 
to  blaze  around  her;  and  the  voice  seemed  to  be  shouting 
in  her  ears,  "Janet!  Janet!" 

And  then  Janet  knew  what  it  was,  and  sprang  up  with 
a  scream  of  wild  joy,  to  fall  back  again  held  by  her  hair. 

"Mr.  Balfour!"  She  was  almost  too  hoarse  to  make  a 
sound.  "Oh,  Mr.  Balfour!" 

And  the  next  moment  he  had  leaped  to  the  log,  dropping 
his  lantern;  and  had  caught  the  little  shivering  figure  in 
his  arms.  Janet  clutched  him  convulsively  round  the  neck ; 
and  hung  on,  with  a  strangling  grasp,  trying  to  make  her- 
self believe  that  he  was  really  there,  while  she  sobbed  wildly 
over  and  over : 

"Oh,  I  thought  you'd  never  come !  I  thought  God  would 
never  send  you!" 

And  John  Gibbie  picked  up  the  fallen  lantern ;  and,  fum- 
bling clumsily  with  his  rifle,  because  his  eyes  were  sting- 
ing sharply,  he  pointed  it  into  the  patch  of  pale  sky  straight 
overhead,  where  one  clear  star  shone  serenely,  and  fired 
two  rapid  shots. 

And  then,  far  away,  to  the  right  and  left,  and  behind, 
the  black  stillness  was  broken  by  faint  cracking  reports, 
the  joyful  tidings  passed  along  that  the  lost  had  been  found. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

NEW  Music 

JANET  skipped  down  the  hall  towards  the  study  in  an  un- 
dulating motion,  just  as  the  goldfinches  danced  over  the 
sunny  fields  behind  her  home.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  had  been  looking  carefully  at  her  reflection  in 
the  mirror.  She  had  found  the  picture  perfectly  satisfac- 
tory; and  was  off  in  pride  and  haste  to  display  herself  to 
Mr.  Balfour. 

Greatly  to  her  relief  the  flag  was  out;  she  tapped  hur- 
riedly. In  response  to  his  "Come  in"  she  flung  wide  the 
door  and  stood  on  the  threshold,  a  little  pink  gingham 
statue,  motionless,  except  for  her  dancing  eyes. 

"Hello,    Jenny    Melody,"    he    began,    "where "    he 

stopped;  he  stared.     Then  he  jumped  from  his  seat,  and 
fairly  shouted. 

"What  in  the  world  ?  Oh,  I  say !  Oh,  Johnny  Melody ! 
Whose  little  boy  is  this?" 

He  dropped  into  his  seat  again,  and  laughed  and  laughed ; 
while  Janet  hopped  all  over  the  study,  laughing  and  scream- 
ing in  mad  delight. 

"Turn  round  till  I  see  how  it  looks  behind,"  he  cried, 
when  he  had  recovered  a  little. 

Janet  spun  round  on  her  toes  like  a  top,  until  her  short 
locks,  cut  trimly  just  above  her  ears,  stood  out  all  round 
her  head  like  a  halo  gone  mad. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Balfour!"  she  gasped,  staggering  against  the 
desk,  dizzy  and  out  of  breath.  "Isn't  it  the  loveliest,  beau- 
tifulest  thing  you  ever  saw?" 

"It  certainly  is,"  he  declared  emphatically,  regarding  her 
with  shining  eyes. 

290 


NEW  MUSIC  291 

"But  what  does  your  mother  say?" 

Janet  tried  hard  to  look  distressed,  with  absolutely  no 
success.  She  drew  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth;  but 
her  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  one  dimple  became  very  con- 
spicuous. 

"Poor  mother  doesn't  like  it  at  all;  and  she  says  she's 
afraid  Daddy  will  be  disappointed.  But  she  says  when  she 
thinks  how  glad  she  is  that  I  wasn't  lost  altogether,  she 
can  stand  losing  my  hair.  And,  anyway,  the  burrs  just 
wouldn't  come  out.  Kirsty  doesn't  like  it,  either.  She  says 
it's  wicked;  and  there's  some  place  in  the  Bible  where  it 
says  it's  a  shame  for  a  woman  to  have  her  hair  cut  off. 
But  old  Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  hasn't  any  hair  at  all ;  and  she's 
awfully  good ;  and  she  hasn't  missed  church  once  in  twenty- 
five  years.  But  I  don't  mind  as  long  as  you  like  it,  Mr. 
Balfour ;  I  just  knew  you  would.  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  how 
lovely  I  feel.  I  haven't  got  that  dreadful  tidy  feeling  I 
always  used  to  have." 

She  stopped  for  lack  of  breath;  and  smoothed  down  her 
bobbed  curls,  her  face  radiant. 

"Well,  well !  Now  that  you've  got  your  hair  off,  and  that 
you're  learning  to  sing,  you'll  soon  have  nothing  in  the 
world  to  wish  for." 

"I  won't  really,  when  Daddy  gets  home  next  week.  No  ; 
just  one  thing.  But  I  don't  think  I'll  ask  God  for  it, 
though,"  she  added  growing  suddenly  grave.  "Even  when 
I  want  anything  very,  very  bad,  I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  coax 
mother  for  it,  or  ever  pray  for  it  again." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  very  much  interested. 

"Because,"  her  voice  grew  hushed,  "I  think  God  must 
have  such  a  bad  time  getting  people  like  me  what  they  want. 
You  know,  I  prayed  and  prayed  that  God  would  let  me 
have  my  hair  cut  off;  and  He  did.  But  just  think  of 
all  the  trouble  He  had  to  go  to !  I  had  to  get  lost,  and  get 
my  hair  so  full  of  burrs  and  things  that  it  couldn't  ever 
be  combed  again.  And  it  made  poor  mother  sick  in  bed; 
and  made  Kirsty  walk  all  the  way  to  the  mountain  in  the 
night.  And  it  made  you  lame  trying  to  find  me.  And  it 


292  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

scared  everybody  in  all  the  country  round;  and  kept  them 
up  all  night.  And  so  I'll  be  afraid  to  want  anything  very 
bad  again." 

Hugh  Balfour  looked  at  her  very  thoughtfully.  Her 
childish  reasoning  was  revealing  to  him  his  own  soul.  He, 
too,  had  wanted  something  very  badly;  and  had  well  nigh 
spoiled  his  own  life  in  his  determination  to  get  it. 

"There's  just  one  more  thing  I  want  dreadfully  bad." 
Janet  was  chattering  away,  "but  I  don't  like  to  ask  God 
for  it.  I'm  afraid  to." 

She  balanced  herself  on  her  favourite  perch,  the  arm 
of  her  father's  old  chair. 

"Is  it  something  you  could  tell  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.  It's  you,  yourself!  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
away  from  here  when  Daddy  comes  home.  I  don't  want 
you  to  go  away  ever,  ever.  And  when  I  think  about  you 
going  away  to  India  or  China  it  gives  me  that  awful  feel- 
ing in  my  stomach  that  I  had  when  I  knew  I  was  lost." 

He  smiled.  "But  you  wouldn't  have  me  stay  home  when 
you  know  how  badly  I'm  needed  in  India.  Don't  you  re- 
member what  you  learned  in  Mission  Band  about  the  little 
widows  of  India,  little  girls  not  as  old  as  you !" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  know,"  said  Janet,  heaving  one  of  her  long 
windy  sighs,  "that's  why  I  won't  ask  God  to  let  you  stay 
home.  I'm  afraid  He  might;  and  I'd  be  sorry  all  the  time 
about  the  little  girls  in  India.  But,"  her  voice  trembled  a 
little,  "don't  you  think  that,  perhaps,  the  Lord  would  like 
you  to  be  the  preacher  in  West  Hampton?" 

He  started.  "What  do  you  know  about  West  Hampton, 
you  funny  little  Jenny  Melody?"  he  asked,  trying  to  treat 
the  heavy  matter  playfully. 

"Oh,  I  heard  what  Mrs.  Wallace  and  the  other  delicate 
said  when  they  were  here.  And  Mrs.  Caldwell  and  Mrs. 
Beckett  were  talking  about  you  going  there  instead  of  be- 
ing a  missionary;  but  I  promised  not  to  tell  that!"  she 
added  hastily. 

His  eyes  dropped  to  his  work  on  the  desk  before  him. 
He  had  suspected  that  the  women  of  the  church  discussed 


NEW  MUSIC  293 

his  plans;  but  the  assurance  of  it  filled  him  with  resent- 
ment. 

"I'm  sure  none  of  them  know  what  they're  talking  about, 
Janet,"  he  said.  "I  haven't  taken  anyone  into  my  confi- 
dence. But  I'm  not  going  to  West  Hampton;  that's  set- 
tled." 

Janet  sighed  heavily,  "Oh,  my,  then  you'll  go  away  far; 
and  I'll  never  see  you  again!" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will;  you're  coming  out  to  India  to  be  a 
missionary,  too,  remember." 

"But  are  you  going  to  India  right  away,  as  soon  as  you're 
through  college  ?" 

"I'm  not  sure.  There's  likely  to  be  a  very  big  war, 
Janet,  and  perhaps  I  may  be  needed  as  a  real  soldier." 

"That  would  be  worse,"  mourned  Janet,  "  'cause  I 
couldn't  go  to  war  with  you." 

She  paused,  and  looked  at  him  steadily,  in  the  way  that 
told  him  she  had  something  on  her  mind  which  she  must 
speedily  get  off.  He  was  quite  at  sea  as  to  what  it  might 
be,  when  she  started  to  unload  it. 

"Mr.  Balfour,"  she  began  hesitatingly,  "do  people  that 
are  engaged  always  have  to  get  married?" 

"They  don't  have  to,"  he  informed  her,  wondering  what 
on  earth  her  busy  mind  had  got  hold  of  this  time,  "but 
they  generally  do." 

"Why  don't  they,  sometimes?" 

"Well,  sometimes  one  person  may  die ;  or  they  may  find 
they  have  made  a  mistake,  and  agree  to  part.  But  why 
are  you  troubling  your  foolish  little  bob-tailed  head  over 
such  things?  You  ought  to  be  thinking  about  dolls  or 
fairies  or  nice,  little,  woolly  baa-lambs." 

"That's  what  I  was  thinking  about, — the  lambs.  It 
was  when  the  lambs  danced  in  the  evening,  that  Miss  Sylvia 
talked  about  it." 

"About  what?"  he  asked  in  nervous  dread. 

"About  being  engaged;  Miss  Sylvia  and  Bessie  Sinclair 
told  me  that  day  you  came  for  me  down  to  the  castle." 

And  then,  drawing  upon  her  infallible  memory,  Janet 


294  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

produced  enough  of  that  evening's  conversation,  coupled 
with  the  information  she  had  gleaned  from  Mrs.  Caldwell 
and  Mrs.  Beckett  and  Nellie,  to  show  the  young  man  that 
if  he  wouldn't  go  away  to  be  a  missionary,  but  would 
preach  in  the  beautiful  big  church  in  West  Hampton,  that 
Miss  Sylvia  would  end  her  engagement  to  the  man  with 
the  big  car,  and  they  would  all  be  happy  together  forever. 

It  all  came  out  in  a  rush,  before  the  astonished  young 
man  could  stop  her. 

"Wait,  wait,  Janet!"  he  cried  in  dismay.  "It  isn't  quite 
right  for  you  to  tell  me  all  this,  dear.  I ' 

"Oh,  yes,  they  wouldn't  mind,"  answered  Janet  easily. 
"Miss  Sylvia  said  that  thing  about  'Little  pitchers/  you 
know,  that  thing  they  always  say  when  they  know  I'm  lis- 
tening; so  I  know  it's  all  right.  And  after  I  heard  that,  I 
thought  how  lovely  it  would  be  if  you'd  marry  Miss  Sylvia, 
and  go  to  live  in  West  Hampton;  and  I'd  go  and  visit 
you  every  week.  And  Martha  Beckett  told  Marjorie  Gilles- 
pie;  and  Nellie  heard  them,  that  Miss  Sylvia  had  been  sick 
in  bed  ever  since  I  was  lost,  'cause  you  wouldn't  go " 

Her  mother's  voice  calling  her  in  a  high  excited  tone 
brought  a  merciful  interruption.  There  was  a  sound  of 
hurrying  feet  and  excited  voices  downstairs.  Janet  jumped 
off  her  perch. 

"Oh,  my!"  she  cried,  "it's  so  lovely  not  to  feel  that  long 
tail  hitting  my  back  every  time  I  jump.  Oh,  Mr.  Balfour," 
she  continued  moving  reluctantly  towards  the  door,  "I  do 
believe  I'll  be  able  to  sing  out  loud  ever  so  much  better 
without  my  hair !  It  was  always  getting  into  my  ears ;  and 
I  just  know  it  kept  me  from  hearing  properly.  Yes,  mother, 
dear !"  as  her  mother's  voice  called  her  again ;  and  away 
she  went  bounding  down  the  stairs. 

Hugh  Balfour  hurriedly  removed  the  flag  and  closed 
the  door.  He  drew  a  breath  of  relief  at  being  alone.  He 
wanted  to  think.  He  had  long  known  that  Sylvia  had  no 
sympathy  with  his  desire  to  be  a  missionary.  Her  self- 
centred  life  was  too  narrow  to  admit  the  glory  of  a  vision 
of  service.  But  he  had  not  known  that  she  was  actually 


NEW  MUSIC  295 

engaged  to  the  owner  of  the  grey  car,  nor  that  she  was 
willing  to  give  him  up  for  the  poor  country  minister. 

But  the  last  knowledge,  which,  some  weeks  earlier,  would 
have  brought  him  joy,  even  though  it  was  mingled  with 
self-accusation,  now  found  him  cold  and  unresponsive. 
That  night  of  terror  in  the  woods,  when  he  had  faced  the 
consequence  of  Sylvia's  selfishness,  had  burned  something 
out  of  his  heart.  Like  Janet  his  ear  was  waking  to  the 
true  music  of  life.  He  was  hearing  again  its  clear  thrilling 
note,  the  call  of  his  great  task.  A  whole  world  of  lost 
children,  little  Janets,  wandering  alone  in  the  darkness, 
were  calling  him  to  come  to  their  aid,  their  sobbing,  childish 
voices  saying  over  and  over,  "I  thought  you  would  never 
come!  I  thought  God  would  never  send  you!" 

The  shattering  of  his  pretty  castle  of  romance  had  left 
no  bitterness;  but  it  had  left  a  deep  regret.  If  she  had 
only  been  all  she  might  have  been,  he  often  said  to  himself. 
His  dream  Sylvia  had  been  "Holy,  wise  and  fair,"  like 
the  Sylvia  of  the  old  song.  It  was  hard  to  find  that  the 
saints  had  given  no  inner  graces  to  the  real  Sylvia. 

So  absorbed  was  he  with  his  thoughts  that  he  did  not 
notice  that  the  stir  in  the  house  had  been  growing,  till  the 
sound  of  hurrying  feet  and  voices  in  the  hall  aroused  him. 
A  heavy  hand  knocked  thunderously  upon  the  door.  It 
flung  open,  and  a  stout,  bronzed  man,  with  a  wild-eyed 
Janet  hanging  to  one  arm,  and  her  laughing,  weeping  mother 
to  the  other,  filled  up  the  doorway. 

"Hi,  young  man !"  cried  the  Rev.  John  Meldrum,  "come 
out  of  that !  This  is  my  study !" 

Hugh  Balfour  met  the  outstretched  hand  with  a  leap; 
and  was  swept  into  the  rapturous  joy  of  the  unexpected 
homecoming.  But  as  he  watched  Janet's  frantic  demon- 
strations, he  was  conscious  of  a  strange  cold  feeling  at  his 
heart.  He  realised  that  he  had  been  merely  a  substitute 
to  her,  as  well  as  to  the  congregation,  through  this  long, 
happy  year.  Henceforth  he  must  take  second  place. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
A  CLEARER  CAROL 

JANET  was  enduring  the  first  day  of  the  Christmas  holi- 
days when  Mr.  Balfour  returned  to  Cherry  Hill.  He 
had  gone  back  to  the  city  for  his  last  year  in  college;  but 
had  suddenly  decided  upon  a  new  course  of  study.  A 
new  call  had  come  to  him  as  it  was  coming  to  many  an- 
other valiant  young  Canadian  heart,  an  insistent  call  to  do 
a  great  and  terrible  task.  And  so  when  he  came  back  to  the 
little  village,  he  wore  the  badge  of  his  new  service,  a  chap- 
lain's uniform.  When  he  stood  up  in  the  pulpit  beside  her 
father  the  next  Sunday,  tall  and  slim,  and  very  young  look- 
ing in  his  smart  khaki,  Janet  was  sure  there  never  was 
such  a  grand  looking  soldier  went  to  war  in  the  world  be- 
fore. 

Everyone  in  Knox  Church  congregation  rather  inclined 
to  her  opinion ;  and  everyone  was  at  church  to  hear  his  fare- 
well sermon.  Even  old  Watty  Sinclair  was  there,  all  the 
way  from  "Down  Below";  and  with  him  his  nephew  Tom, 
and  Tom's  Woman. 

There  was  one  notable  exception.  For  the  first  time  in 
a  dozen  years,  Kirsty's  place  in  the  Manse  pew  was  empty. 
She  could  not  abide,  she  declared,  to  sit  under  a  minister 
dressed  in  the  unclerical  garb  in  which  Mr.  Balfour  had 
arrayed  himself.  It  was  not  fitting  that  any  man  should 
preach  the  Word  to  Christian  people  in  sic  like  trimmin's 
and  trappin's;  his  leggings  and  his  spurs  were  clean  scan- 
dalous in  the  pulpit;  and  he  didn't  even  have  on  a  white 
collar. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Meldrum  explained  that  Mr. 
Balfour  was  wearing  the  regulation  chaplain's  uniform,  pre- 
296 


A  CLEARER  CAROL  297 

scribed  by  his  country.  Kirsty  would  have  none  of  it  even 
if  it  had  been  commanded  by  the  King.  Nevertheless,  she 
prepared  such  a  dinner  on  Saturday  night  as  left  no  doubt 
in  the  family's  mind  that,  whatever  she  thought  of  his 
outward  similitude,  the  man  inside  the  uniform  met  with 
her  entire  approval. 

They  crowded  around  him  after  the  service,  to  bid  him 
Godspeed;  for  he  was  to  leave  that  afternoon.  There 
were  the  young  people  to  whom,  even  in  his  short  ministry, 
he  had  given  a  glimpse  of  the  joy  of  a  life  of  service; 
the  old  folk  who  had  loved  him  as  a  son ;  aifd,  most  eager 
of  all,  the  children,  who  knew  that  they  had  had  first  place 
in  his  heart.  There  were  tears  in  every  eye,  from  old 
Mrs.  Gibbie  Gibson  and  old  Watty  Sinclair,  wko  wept 
openly,  to  Janet  who  ran  home  ahead  of  everyone,  over- 
whelmed with  sobbing.  She  was  so  blinded  with  tears, 
as  she  fled,  that  she  did  not  even  look  at  the  Sinclair  pew; 
so  she  did  not  know  that  old  Watty  was  there  ready  to 
weep  with  her ;  nor  that  Miss  Lena  did  not  join  the  people 
who  thronged  around  the  young  soldier,  but  slipped  out 
of  the  church  alone. 

Janet  made  a  desperate  effort  to  regain  her  self-control 
before  the  family  returned.  To  attain  this  she  set  furiously 
to  work.  Even  though  it  was  the  Sabbath,  and  Kirsty 
might  discover  her,  she  felt  she  must  do  something;  and 
proceeded  to  hang  Mr.  Balfour's  picture  in  her  room.  He 
had  given  it  to  her  the  evening  he  arrived;  a  photograph 
taken  in  his  new  uniform.  She  climbed  upon  a  chair  and 
reaching  at  a  perilous  angle,  managed  to  hang  it  on  a  nail 
at  the  foot  of  her  bed.  Pepper  fussed  about,  feeling  that 
he  was  helping. 

:  "There,  Peppy,  I'll  be  able  to  see  him  first  thing  in  the 
morning  and  last  thing  at  night,"  and  then  she  had  a  sud- 
den inspiration  and  leaped  from  the  chair. 

Nellie's  sister  Marjorie  had  a  soldier  friend  who  was 
going  to  the  war,  the  same  young  man  who  had  met  his 
Waterloo  in  the  Doctor's  salad.  Nellie  had  confided  to 
Janet  that  Marjorie  hung  his  picture  in  her  room  with  a 


298  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

flag  hung  above  it ;  and  cried  about  him  every  night.  Janet 
felt  sure  she  could  perform  the  crying  part  of  the  cere- 
mony very  easily ;  but  he  must  have  a  flag,  too.  And  what 
more  appropriate  than  the  little  flag  that  had  been  the  sig- 
nal between  them  for  so  long !  It  was  in  her  dresser  drawer, 
where  she  had  put  it  away  when  he  left.  She  dared  not 
suggest  to  Kirsty  that  she  drive  a  tack  on  Sunday;  so  she 
stuck  the  flag  up  with  a  pin  as  a  concession  to  the  day, 
promising  it  a  hammer  and  nail  early  on  Monday  morning. 

Then,  because  the  pictured  face  looked  down  at  her  with 
such  kind  eyes  that  the  tears  were  very  hard  to  hold  back, 
Janet  ran  about  hunting  for  another  piece  of  work.  She 
rummaged  in  her  drawer  again  and  took  out  a  little  book. 
It  was  a  pretty  autograph  album  her  father  had  given  her 
on  the  last  Hallowe'en;  her  twelfth  birthday.  He  had 
written  a  little  verse  on  the  first  page,  and  her  mother  had 
inscribed  one  on  the  second.  The  third  page  must  be  Mr. 
Balfour's.  She  would  lay  it  on  the  study  desk  where  he 
would  see  it  as  soon  as  he  returned.  When  this  little  task 
was  done,  the  stamping  of  snowy  feet  on  the  veranda  an- 
nounced the  return  of  the  rest  of  the  family  from  church ; 
and  Janet  ran  down  the  stairs  to  meet  them,  Pepper's  joy- 
ful antics  driving  away  all  appearance  of  sadness. 

She  managed  to  get  Mr.  Balfour  away  with  her  alone 
for  a  few  minutes  before  dinner.  She  took  his  hand  and 
led  him  up  to  the  study  where  they  had  spent  so  many 
happy  hours. 

"I  want  you  to  please  write  something  in  my  album,  a 
good-bye,"  she  said,  handing  him  the  little  book;  and  in 
spite  of  her  gallant  attempt  at  cheerfulness  her  voice  faltered 
over  the  last  word. 

"What  a  pretty  little  book!"  he  cried,  cheerily,  "And 
you've  left  the  place  of  honour  to  me — right  next  to  your 
mother !  Ah,  isn't  it  like  old  times  to  get  into  my  old  place 
again !" 

He  sat  down  before  the  desk;  and  yet  he  did  not  look 
familiar  to  Janet  even  there.  The  sight  of  him  in  the 


A  CLEARER  CAROL  299 

strange  new  uniform,  with  its  shiny  buttons  and  straps 
made  her  feel  as  if  he  were  already  far  removed. 

He  looked  at  Janet  thoughtfully,  wondering  what  word  he 
could  write  in  parting  that  would  be  helpful  to  a  little 
girl.  She  stood  beside  the  desk,  her  hands  locked  tightly 
behind  her,  her  deep,  grey  eyes  telling  that  the  tears  were 
not  far  away. 

"You're  growing  to  be  such  a  big  girl,  Janet,"  he  said. 
"Why,  you're  twelve!  I  must  measure  you  on  the  door 
post  before  I  go;  and  then  when  the  war's  over  I'll  be 
right  back  to  see  if  you've  grown  any." 

But  Janet  could  not  rise  to  his  cheeriness. 

"Mrs.  Caldwell  told  Miss  Lena  that  maybe  you'd  have 
to  go  right  on  out  to  India  after  the  war;  and  then  you 
wouldn't  be  back  for  seven  years." 

"Twelve  and  seven  make  nineteen!"  he  cried  gayly. 
"Why,  you'd  be  a  young  lady  when  I  got  back !  Wouldn't 
that  be  fine?" 

Janet  tried  to  smile,  with  but  small  success;  her  dimple 
refused  to  appear.  She  shook  her  short  curls  despairingly. 
Seven  years !  It  was  as  if  he  had  said  seventy  to  the  little 
girl  of  twelve. 

"It's  such  a  long,  long  time,"  she  said,  trying  to  keep 
her  lip  from  trembling. 

"But  I'm  sure  to  be  home  before  that.  And  think  of 
the  lovely  songs  you'll  be  singing  when  I'm  away.  And, 
remember,  you  must  learn  to  knit,  because  I'll  need  a  great 
many  socks.  And  you  must  write  me  a  letter  every  week ; 
and  send  me  boxes  of  candy,  the  way  all  the  girls  do  for 
their  soldiers." 

Janet's  eyes  were  beginning  to  grow  brighter.  "Oh, 
I'd  love  to  do  something !"  she  burst  out.  "I  wish  I  could 
be  a  nurse,  and  go  to  war  with  you." 

"The  very  best  thing  you  can  do  for  your  country  at 
present,  Jenny  Melody,  is  just  to  keep  on  singing,  either 
out  loud  or  in  your  heart;  and  be  sure  you  are  making 
melody  unto  the  Lord." 

He  picked  up  a  pen  and  looked  at  Janet  again;  at  her 


300  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

big  honest  grey  eyes,  shadowed  to-day  with  the  sorrow  of 
the  coming  parting;  her  pretty,  short,  boyish  curls,  touch- 
ing the  soft  rose  of  her  cheek;  her  little  restless  brown 
hands ;  it  was  a  very  childish  picture.  What  would  she  be 
when  he  saw  her  again, — if  he  ever  came  back?  She  was 
so  loyal,  so  crystally  truthful,  so  utterly  self-forgetful,  so 
generous  of  heart.  What  a  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
she  would  make  some  day,  provided  ambition,  the  love  of 
pleasure,  and  all  the  allurements  of  the  world  left  her  as 
she  was,  sweet,  and  true,  and  unspoiled.  He  frowned  in- 
voluntarily, as  he  looked  into  a  possible  future.  He  could 
not  forget  one  whom  nature  had  intended  for  one  of  her 
chief  music  makers  of  the  earth;  one  who  seemed  bright 
and  charming  and  lovable,  but  whose  heart  was  callous, 
and  whose  thought  was  all  for  self.  "This  old  world  won't 
be  able  to  bear  its  weight  of  crime  if  it  spoils  Janet,"  he 
muttered  to  himself. 

He  opened  the  little  book  at  the  third  page,  and  after 
a  moment's  thought  he  wrote  Kingsley's  beautiful  "Farewell 
to  a  young  girl."  And  below  he  added  the  little  verse  of 
Scripture  that  had  been  her  inspiration,  "Singing  and  mak- 
ing melody  in  your  heart  to  the  Lord." 

He  had  just  signed  his  name  when  they  were  called  to 
dinner,  the  wonderful  meal  at  which  Kirsty  had  risen  to 
heights  never  before  attained  in  all  her  years  of  triumphant 
cookery. 

As  soon  as  they  had  finished,  Janet's  father  told  her  to 
hand  around  the  Bibles,  as  she  always  did  after  breakfast. 
It  seemed  so  strange  to  Janet,  to  have  prayers  in  the  middle 
of  the  day. 

"We  shall  read  Psalm  91,"  said  the  minister.  They  were 
strange  words ;  a  marvellous  promise  to  one  who  was  going 
into  the  midst  of  battle. 

"Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid  of  the  terror  by  night,  nor 
for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day  ...  a  thousand  shall  fall 
at  thy  side,  and  ten  thousand  at  thy  right  hand;  but  it 
shall  not  come  nigh  thee  .  .  .  For  He  shall  give  His  angels 
charge  over  thee,  to  keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways." 


A  CLEARER  CAROL  301 

The  young  soldier,  to  whom  they  were  being  read,  un- 
derstood; it  was  the  great  eternal  promise  that  his  soul 
would  be  kept  safe,  "under  the  Shadow  of  the  Almighty." 

They  had  just  risen  from  their  knees  when  a  loud  jingle 
of  bells  from  the  gate  announced  that  the  time  of  separa- 
tion had  come.  Dr.  Gillespie  had  promised  to  drive  Captain 
Balfour  to  Algonquin,  in  time  for  the  afternoon  train  to 
Toronto.  For  the  War  Lords  took  no  note  of  the  Sab- 
bath; and  his  Battalion  was  already  ordered  away. 

There  was  a  rush  for  his  cap  and  his  cane  and  his  great 
coat.  The  farewells  were  over  in  a  moment.  Mrs.  Mel- 
drum's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  for  the  mother  who  was 
giving  up  such  a  son  to  the  battlefield.  Mr.  Meldrum  could 
only  say,  "God  bless  you;  God  keep  you,"  over  and  over, 
as  he  wrung  his  hand.  Kirsty's  manner  was  unusually  se- 
vere and  forbidding ;  but  there  was  a  look  of  fierce  anguish 
in  her  eyes  more  moving  than  tears.  She  had  knit  him  a 
pair  of  socks,  from  the  softest  wool  she  could  find  in  the 
whole  neighbourhood ;  and  these  she  pressed  into  his  hands, 
saying  shortly: 

"Here,  take  these ;  and  mind  ye  keep  a  pair  o'  dry  feet  on 
ye!" 

Janet  ran  ahead  of  him  to  the  gate.  She  had  promised 
herself  over  and  over  that  she  would  not  cry;  and  she  was 
holding  desperately  to  her  resolve. 

A  crowd  of  children  had  gathered  at  the  gate  to  see 
their  hero  depart.  Spotty  Cameron,  the  Kellys,  Nellie  and 
Kitty,  and  half-a-dozen  others.  At  every  gate  all  up  and 
down  the  street  people  were  standing  waving  farewell; 
and  away  down  near  the  corner  Janet  could  see  Aggie 
Wright  hurrying  forward,  dressed  in  a  wonderful  fur- 
trimmed  coat  and  red  velvet  dress,  and  crying  into  her 
new  fox  fur  muff. 

Janet  was  relieved  and  glad  to  see  Bud  and  Molly; 
somehow  their  presence  made  the  parting  a  little  less  bitter. 
The  sorrow  was  distributed,  and  its  burden  did  not  feel 
quite  so  crushing.  She  stood  at  the  gate  in  the  keen  Decem- 
ber wind,  waving  her  handkerchief ;  and  Mr.  Balfour  looked 


302  LITTLE  MISS  MELODY 

back  and  waved  Kirsty's  new  socks,  until  the  cutter  dis- 
appeared round  a  curve  in  the  road  and  he  was  gone ! 

The  tears  would  not  be  held  back  any  longer.  Janet 
fled  blindly  to  the  house,  and  flung  herself  into  her  father's 
arms.  She  held  him  tightly  around  the  neck  with  one 
arm,  while  she  clung  to  her  mother  with  the  other.  She 
felt  that  she  must  hold  them  fast,  lest  some  dread  cir- 
cumstance snatch  them,  too,  away  and  leave  her  entirely 
desolate. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  that  she  picked  up  the  little 
album  with  Mr.  Bal four's  farewell  words,  and  read  them 
over  and  over  through  her  tears : 

Dear  Jenny  Melody, 

"I'll  tell  you  how  to  sing  a  clearer  carol 

Than  lark,  who  hails  the  dawn  o'er  breezy  down, 
To  earn  yourself  a  purer  poet's  laurel 
Than  Shakespeare's  crown. 

"Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever ; 

Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long; 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  forever 
One  grand  sweet  song." 

Janet  was  but  a  child  as  yet,  and  was  unconscious  of 
their  full  beauty.  But  her  heart  caught  and  held  the  simple 
message  "Be  good,  sweet  maid";  and  in  after  years  she 
proved  their  sublime  truth ;  years  that  taught  the  little  girl 
who  could  not  sing  to  chant  the  "clearer  carol"  of  a  beau- 
tiful unselfish  life. 


THE   END 


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